


The Weight of Living

by unsubstitute



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Slow Burn, post S1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 34,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsubstitute/pseuds/unsubstitute
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an albatross around your neck. Let it go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This started out as a couple of vaguely cohesive drabbles and turned into...more. Not mine, don't own. Title and summary are from a Bastille song.

Yesterday, maybe even an hour ago, he would have had no problem pinpointing the worst moment of his life. No contest. The moment he learned his marriage and his career's most important case were both ruined by his wife's careless deception. That was unquestionably the most terrible moment to date. But right now, this moment, is very stiff competition. Because right now, he is on his way to go and tell his partner, the closest thing he has to a friend in this bastard town, tell her that her life is about to change immeasurably, and for the worse. He's painfully familiar with the kind of betrayal and loss she's about to feel, and the dread at seeing it come over her face makes him lightheaded. It was bad enough when his own marriage collapsed, but he knows now that was always inevitable. No one ever accused him of being easy to live with. But Miller--Ellie--she is loving and kind, sees the good in the world, and her marriage to Joe struck them all as idyllic. She is the last person to deserve this. Christ, he thinks, if his heart makes it through this day it must be stronger than the doctors give it credit for.

 


	2. Chapter 2

She shows up at his door looking wild-eyed. Looking bloody terrified. The rims of her eyes are swollen and red. As soon as he's opened the door fully she says, "how could I not know?" She is accusing herself. Looks mad as hell, like she's about one minute away from taking herself into custody.

He steps aside to let her in and she pushes through, then turns on her heel to ask again. " _How_?" This time, the word barely makes it out, almost slips through the crack in her voice. Tears fill oceans in her impossibly deep eyes.

He takes the step toward her and gently guides her, hand on her elbow, toward his bed. He more or less tugs her down to sit next to him on its edge. They sit side-by-side, hips nearly touching. She turns to him and it's possibly the closest their faces have ever been. He takes the moment to look at her, but there are too many emotions on her face, he can't make sense of them. "I should have known," she says. He's an inch from her lips but he can barely make out the whisper.

She starts crying in earnest then. Her face collapses, eyes closed, mouth scrunched. Not the hysterics of earlier, but a hopeless, resigned weeping. She leans back a little, hunches her shoulders and brings her hands up to cover her entire face.

Strangest thing, he touched her very little in the two months he worked every day with her, but in the last few hours he hasn't been able to stop himself. His hands have been constantly making contact with her. Little touches, to the arm, to the small of the back. It's an instinctual protectiveness he hasn't felt in a long, long time.

It's because of this instinct that he doesn't even realize that he has wrapped his arms around her shoulders for a hug. He's gently rocking her before he even knows it, and only comprehends what he's doing when her crying stops and she sits utterly still. He has shocked her into recovery, maybe: shock paddles to a breaking heart.

He drops his arms as quickly as he raised them, and when she's out of his grasp she stands. He feels supremely awkward but she doesn't seem bothered, only restless. She paces in front of him, in the narrow space beside the bed, nervous energy making her hands shake. It's astounding really, how many times her tenor has shifted since she entered the room less than five minutes ago. She seems to be muttering the word "how" under her breath like a mantra.

"Why don't you tell me what's happened?" he says.

She keeps muttering and pacing for a minute, ignoring him fully until finally she says, "I didn't listen to you."

"Oh well, that's a real shocker." He hopes maybe banter will perk her up. It doesn't. She keeps pacing. "So what happened?"

She stops, finally. Huffs out a gust of air and looks at him, then plops down in the chair behind her. "Well, it's just, I went for a walk. I needed to be alone, to try and clear my head. How can I be strong for Tom when I can't even be strong for myself? So I walked. And before I knew it, I was in the field, behind my house. Behind Danny's house. I didn't even realize that's where I was going 'til I was there, looking at Beth through a window."

He groans. He can't help it. She really can be spectacular at not listening to him.

"I know, I know," she says. And her voice is so sad, he feels guilty.

"So, tell me what happened," he says. He leans forward. He wants to reach out to her and put his hand on hers, but she's just past arm's length, and anyway her hands are twisted up in her lap.

"Beth saw me, and she came out. I don't know what I expected to happen but...it wasn't that."

"Wasn't what?" The look on her face is concerning.

"She just...she said how could I not know, and then she turned around and went back inside. Didn't wait for my answer. Nothing." She raises her head, lets him see her eyes. Those huge, expressive eyes that he's sure have been betraying her for her entire life. They can't hide anything. In fact, even if he hadn't been absolutely sure she could have nothing to do with Danny's death, because he knows she's so incredibly good, he still would have known she was innocent because her eyes wouldn't allow a single lie.

Her words break the spell her eyes cast. "She's right, you know."

"No, she isn't—" He responds automatically, and means it.

"She's right," Ellie says. "It's absurd that I didn't know. How could I not?"

"He was very good at hiding, you're asking how could you not know, but I don't think you could have."

He doesn't like the way this is going. He doesn't like the idea of her doubting herself. That protectiveness overwhelms him again, and he wants to hold her, to hide her, to keep her away from anything bad that could ever happen from now on. He wants to throttle Joe for doing this to her.

And he can't stop looking at those eyes. They are begging for answers he doesn't know how to give. There's a lump in his throat and he feels a grief he never would have expected. He's grieving on her behalf, and wants very much not to think about what that might mean. And while he does everything he can to help her, to protect her, he'll spend just as much time ignoring this sensation that he can feel slowly building in him.


	3. Chapter 3

Her visits become a habit. Selfishly, he looks forward to them, even though they are emotionally draining and she's only here because the worst imaginable thing has happened to her and maybe he's all she has left. She waits until the kids have gone to bed, and then walks across town to knock on his door almost every night. The nights she doesn't come, he stays up worrying, because it means Tom has had a nightmare or some other crisis has come about. On those nights, when she doesn't come, he'll call or text, just to make sure she's all right, to reassure himself as much as anything. She always responds, or at least calls back later, and he gets the sense it makes them both feel better.

When she comes to him, a variety of things can happen. Sometimes she'll want to sit and talk, like they did that first night. Sometimes they walk. Sometimes, she just seems grateful for his company, and she will sit with him and watch TV. He learned early on that DS Miller was never one for awkward silence, and even in this tumultuous time, the same person is still mostly in there. Sometimes she wants to talk about Joe and the case. She dissects every little thing that might or might not have been a clue, both when Danny was alive and when he was not.

But other times she just wants to fill the void, and he lets her. She starts on the second night, by asking him more about his childhood holidays in Broadchurch. How did they pick her town? How did they even find it? That spirals into wanting to know more about his parents and his childhood in general. It shocks him, the ease with which he can answer her questions. He never talks about himself. He's never seen the point, really. But she makes him feel safe, even when she is jittery and restless and half ready to burst into tears. She's as warm and open as anyone he's ever known, and certainly he's not used to people acting that way towards him in particular. So he tells her what she wants to know, and soon she knows more about him than nearly anyone else on Earth.

What they don't talk about is her current situation. Sometimes she will provide a silly anecdote to go along with whatever story he's trying to tell. They both have older sisters. They both had dads who drank a little too much. She didn't learn to like swimming until she was a teenager so maybe he ought to try it again sometime. But they don't talk about what she's planning to do now. When she'll go back to work, whether or not she'll go back to the house she shared with Joe. He's dying to ask her. Dying being the operative word here, truly. It terrifies him, maybe more than that bloody pacemaker, when he realizes he's waiting for her before he makes plans of his own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before I saw a deleted scene that contradicts it. So if deleted scenes count as canon then this is slightly AU.

Between wrapping up the case and notifying the family and making all the arrangements, it is eight days between Joe's confession and Danny's funeral. She calls him that morning and invites herself over. She's never called first. He doesn't say no to her anymore.

She arrives in the same basic getup she's had on since the whole thing happened. Boots, jeans, and that ridiculous orange jacket. It's too big for her, and it swallows her up and makes her look so small. It's hard not to reach out and hug her, but he's resisted since that first night when he made things so uncomfortable.

A little bit of time must pass while he is just standing in his doorway looking at her, because she sort of dances in place for a moment to get his attention.

"Well, come on then. Let's go!"

"Go?"

"We're going on an adventure. Come on!"

He notices then that she's got a child's backpack in her hand. "What kind of adventure? And what's that you've got?"

She looks at him like he's lost his mind. Like this is six weeks ago and he is her only problem in the world. "It's lunch. I'd have us stop for fish and chips but I don't want you dropping dead in the middle of the high street. Oh, and you'll want to bring a warmer coat."

She turns on her heel and walks out, not waiting as he grabs his coat and scarf and follows. He catches up to her as they reach the lobby. She turns and looks at him. He's no idea what's going on or what's happened but she looks calm. Almost happy. Almost like her normal self. He's standing so close to her it's a bit intimate, nose-to-nose like this. Her face relaxes even further. He can feel his own face shift, the hint of a smile flirting with his lips. "Shall we?" he says.

She nods and turns round again. He guides her out, hand hovering a few inches away from the small of her back. He glances around and notices Becca Fisher watching them. He gives her a nod and she looks at Ellie and nods back, silently telling him well done.

They take a route he's never been before. Even with the more relaxed demeanor, she's quiet today, so he respects that and doesn't ask her any questions about where they're going. He understands why she'd want to do something different today, something away from town. He knows her well enough to know she'd give anything to be down there at that funeral, with her family and the people who were her friends until a week ago. But she can't, and he understands that too. He believes wholeheartedly that her guilt is misplaced but it's there nonetheless. He can see it in the way her shoulders tense up at the sound of the church bells ringing in the distance. She sniffles so softly he might not have noticed if he weren't paying constant attention to her.

Truthfully, he would've liked to go to the funeral too. Would've done, were it not for Ellie. She's his priority. She must sense he's been staring at her because she stops and turns her head to look at him. Her eyes are wet but there are not tears. Maybe she's run out by now. The very edge of her mouth lifts up, the first whisper of a smile. He returns the gesture. It surprises them both when he takes her hand and squeezes it as they continue walking. More surprising is that neither of them lets go.

They're walking up the back side of a giant cliff, up a dirt trail that has been crafted by centuries of curious feet rather than any sort of planned landscaping. The whole scene looks vaguely familiar, but whether he's actually been here or it looks like a child's fairy tale, he can't be sure.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he says.

She looks around her as she climbs. "Yes it is," she says.

Another minute passes before she says, "All this time in Broadchurch, and you've still not had a chance to see my favorite view. It's top the highest cliff, bit down the beach from the others. Don't worry, I won't push you off." She grins at him then, and the sight of her lifts his heart.

But the trouble is, when your heart isn't working properly, any sudden movements can be tricky. He's dizzy all of the sudden and he begins to falter, swaying back slightly, dangerously close to tumbling all the way down this massive hill. She swings around the front of him to grab him, keeping hold of his hand and wrapping her other arm around his back. She catches him with surprising strength. He forces his head to stop spinning, grounding himself with the sight of concern on her face. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea," she says.

He pats her between the shoulder blades, where he's grabbed her to steady himself. A passerby would think they were in the middle of a very different sort of embrace. "No," he says. "The idea was good. It's my execution that's rubbish."

She huffs out an amused burst of air. "Well, come on then, the cliffs can wait til another time. I know somewhere else we can go."

She leads them, still hand in hand, down another dirt path going perpendicular to the one they'd been climbing, until they reach a small clearing with a bench. It looks just like the one Paul Coates sits on near the church, but with a different view.

"How did you find this place?"

She looks at him with that amused look that tells him she thinks he's a bit daft. "I've lived here my whole life, I've had a bit of time to explore."

"Right of course," he mumbles.

She gives him another little look, then focuses her attention on rummaging through the knapsack and pulling out a small cooler, so the next thing she says is really focused more at the ground than at him.

"I had my first kiss on this bench. Ronnie Hawkins. I fancied him, but I didn't have any idea he fancied me. I thought we were just friends. We used to hike the cliffs together. And then one day we found this place, and as soon as we sat down, he leaned over and kissed me."

"Ah, well done, Ronnie. How old were you?"

She's still very focused on the cooler, so he can't see her face, but the back of her neck is bright red. "I was...nearly nineteen. Bit of a late bloomer. Especially 'round here."

He can't help himself, he laughs. Really, it's more of a giggle, and he should be embarrassed, he should really, really stop, but he can't. He finds it unbelievably cute, the image of a teenage Ellie, awkward, innocent, all curls, teeth and knobby knees, utterly unaware of how charming she was. _Is_.

She looks completely mortified over the way he is laughing at her, and he should compose himself but he still can't. "Oh, I'm glad my embarrassment is such a joy for you!" She gives him a tiny shove.

"I'm sorry," he breathes between fits, "but that is bloody fantastic! I bet you were quite adorable."

He didn't even mean to say that last part out loud, but it seems to pacify her, although she blushes all over again. When he finally settles she hands him a plastic container and a bottle of water.

"What is this?" he asks, eyeing the contents.

"It's spinach salad and smoked salmon. Heart healthy!" She sounds triumphant. He knows she's looking at him but he's fixated on the lunch in his hands. "Oh don't tell me, you're a Scot who doesn't like Fish and Chips or smoked salmon?"

"No! No. I like it. Thank you. Just not used to someone else helping to take care of me."

She shrugs, "Well, I've just now got used to having you around. Hate for you to go and keel over on me."

She tries to keep her voice sounding light-hearted, but she isn't fooling anyone. Her eyes are serious, but he has trouble figuring them out. They look worried and, maybe, a bit desperate.

"I'm trying my best," he tells her. He has no interest in dying, either. In truth, a month ago he thought he just wanted to find Danny's killer and then his body could do as it liked, but now he thinks maybe there are other things to stick around for. He takes a big bite of the spinach, to show her he means it.

They eat in silence. It's comfortable, just being next to her. He looks over at her and she meets his gaze, smiling a bit around her salad. He looks out over trees and fields, the town off in the distance. It's peaceful up here. He's not used to feeling calm.

The serenity is interrupted by the sound of the church bells in the distance, indicating the end of the service.

She stiffens, takes in a sharp breath. "It's over," she whispers. Her head drops, her eyes shut tight, as if she is trying to disappear.

Tentatively, he puts an arm around her shoulders, cups his hand around her neck, rubbing circles there. He's got nothing to say. The funeral may be over but the mourning goes on.

When several moments pass she takes a breath, reaching deep into her chest cavity. Sitting up straight she reaches behind her and squeezes the hand that's been caressing and comforting her. She nods to herself and finally, looks over at him.

"Well, that's that, then. Are you all finished there? Shall we head back down?"

Startled, he takes his hand away. He gives her his empty box mutely and stands, smoothing out his suit pants. Standing beside him, she shuffles a bit. With her eyes hooded, she looks almost demure, almost shy even.

"Thank you, for coming with me here today."

"Eh, yeah, don't mention it. Where else would I be?"

"You could've gone to the funeral, for starters."

He shrugs. "I'm where I want to be."

She looks like she doesn't quite believe him but she nods and begins to walk back down the hill. He follows her.


	5. Chapter 5

When they reach the bottom of the hill, she looks a bit lost. She surveys the area but doesn't say anything.

"Want to walk towards the beach?" he suggests.

She looks thankful for the direction. Nods assent and heads in that direction. They're quiet for a while. Finally, she stops. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"I already said, didn't I? I—"

"No, no. Sorry. I meant, you know..." She very tentatively reaches out to him, places her fingertips over his heart.

"Oh. That. Yeah. The doctor said I should get more exercise, so this is quite literally just what the doctor ordered."

She lets her hand relax against his chest for a moment. "Okay," she says.

As they walk, he can practically feel her drowning in her own morose thoughts, the upbeat pleasantness of the morning gone, so he racks his brain for something harmless to say to her.

"So. Ronnie Hawkins, eh?"

"Mm?"

"Your first kiss, lad named Ronnie Hawkins."

She blushes and he pretends not to notice. "Yes, well. He was quite handsome. Or I thought so anyway. He was teased in school for being skinny, and a bit awkward. My friends thought I was mad for fancying him as much as I did. But he had a nice face and he was funny."

"Love is blind. So did you kiss him often then?" He nudges her a bit with his elbow, drinks in her smile.

"Well, yeah. We dated for three years."

"That's a long time for that age. What happened, then?"

She shrugs. "Nothing happened. That kiss was during the summer, but during the school year we were at university at different places, and you know, that was before texting and those sorts of things. It was too hard, and I think we both got tired of the whole thing. But no harm done."

"It's a good first kiss story, at the least," he says.

She doesn't answer at first. He isn't sure why that would've upset her.

"I've only ever kissed the two of them. Ronnie...and Joe. Just those two," she says.

And there it is.

"So far," he says, a declaration.

She meets his eyes. There are questions on her face as she studies him.

He steps closer, crowds her space. He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Something terrible has happened, Ellie. Bad things happen. It doesn't mean your entire life is over. It just means it's changed. That's a big difference. You thought there'd always just be Ronnie then Joe. You mustn't start thinking your whole life is ended, because that's not how it has to be. It just means there's just been Ronnie and Joe...so far."

She still has that look on her face, and he is enormously uncomfortable. She could be interpreting his words in a dozen different ways, and the worst part, he realizes, is that any of them might be correct.

"So far," she says.


	6. Chapter 6

They walk for hours. He can't believe the endurance she's got for walking this far, but then he supposes she must have got her nice legs from somewhere. He knows it's mostly nervous energy keeping her going at this point, but still. He sees parts of town he didn't even know existed. Occasionally he'll ask about a landmark, a statue of a striped yellow cow standing alone in a field, a front garden with every inch covered in pink flowers, a house with a mural of a front door and windows. Oddities he's sure must have ridiculous stories. He wonders when he started being slightly amused by these things instead of finding them hateful. No doubt she's partly to blame for that change.

They stop to sit from time to time, usually when she notices he's doing a bit of huffing and puffing. At sunset he buys her a 99. He wonders aloud what is the point of maintaining an ice cream cart in 11 degree weather. "For people like you, apparently," she says. He does not miss the apologetic look she shoots to the vendor.

But mostly they keep moving. When the sun is almost completely gone, he suggests they head home, but she shakes her head.

"I'd like to stay. I thought we could sit over here." She leads him to the bench marking the edge of the beach where they first found Danny's body. On the beach he sees a tall tower of sticks, the makings of a bonfire. She looks nervous, and it occurs to him they are here for a reason.

"They've had a reception all afternoon, waiting til it gets dark, and now they'll be making their way over here. Beth and the family will be up on one of the hills. You'll see. It's a Broadchurch tradition. Quite beautiful."

"Okay, we'll stay and watch," he says.

"Thanks." She's quiet for a moment. "It's always been one of my favorite things about living here. These weird traditions. The yellow cow you saw. He's been there forever. Every now and then he gets repainted. And this, the bonfires to honor the dead. A sort of goodbye and wish for safe passage. I've always thought it was quite touching."

"Aye. We never had anything like this when I was growing up."

"I always tell everyone that Broadchurch is special. They always tell me I'm biased. It took Joe years to appreciate the charm, actually tried to get me to go with him back to Cardiff at first, but then eventually..."

She doesn't finish the thought. Doesn't need to tell him that Joe was as much a staple in the community as she is. He shifts his body so he can look at her fully. She's not crying, a hopeful sign. While he studies her, a glimmer catches his attention from the corner of his eye.

He taps her knee. "Here they come."

She shifts around to see the huge ensemble of bodies parading toward the sea, two dozen or more flaming torches lighting the way. When the first torch hits the bonfire and it lights up, she turns back toward him.

It's been eating at him all day, and now seems as good a moment as there will ever be, so he bites the bullet. They avoided the conversation long enough. "What will you do now?"

She tells him she's planning on leaving. He doesn't quite believe her. If today has proven anything it's that this is her home. She belongs here. He tells her as much but she dodges the subject, shifts the conversation back to him.

Former Detectives Club, she calls them. It's cute and sad and fitting. He doesn't particularly want to be medicaled out, but he doesn't seem to have much choice in the matter. Still, he's too young to be retired, but feels too old to start out on something new.

She seems to be reading his mind when she says, "I wonder what kind of market there is for a pair of ex-coppers?"

He chuckles, "Maybe we can open a private investigators' shop. I'll wear a fedora, you wear a pencil skirt, we'll live our lives like we're a film noir."

She genuinely laughs at that. "Why stop there? We could be a regular Sherlock and Watson. I'll buy you a magnifying glass straight away."

He laughs too. "I'd rather have the fedora."

He looks out at the beach. The bonfire is enormous. Beside him she gasps. "Oh wow," she says, "Look out there."

Across the cliffs he sees fires popped up everywhere.

"Is that how it's always done?"

"No," she says, "I've never seen it happen before. It's lovely, isn't it?"

"Aye." She stares at the flames in the distance. He watches her, until she catches him. "Maybe we should get going," she says.

He nods agreement and stands, holding out his hand to help her up. He keeps hold of her even once she's standing, and she lets him. It's been a long day, and he's exhausted. They are slow making their way back to town.

Too slow, as it turns out, because they arrive on the high street about the same time as the rest of the crowd. He feels her step closer to him, willing herself to fade into the background. She keeps her head down and speeds up. She drops his hand but sort of elbows into him to encourage him to keep up the pace.

"Oy! What the hell are you doing here?" A deep angry voice sounds out nearby. The body attached to it steps right in front of them a moment later. It's a man, the shape and color of a red brick, whom he is certain he's never met before in his life.

"Walking," Ellie mutters and tries to keep going.

The man steps in further front of her, blocking her path. "You've no right, Ellie," he says.

"It's a public street, John," she says.

"And you just happen to pick this moment to be walking on it? It's not right. You're not welcome here. Not tonight, at any rate." This man, John, takes another step toward her.

Hardy puts his arm in front of Ellie and pushes her behind him, using his body to shield her. "Sir," he says, "we're just passing by. No harm done. You're out of line. She's done nothing to you. In fact, she's done nothing to anyone except be loving and kind."

"Nothing against you, DI Hardy, but it seems to me maybe if she'd been a little more _loving_ with her husband we wouldn't be standing here in the first place."

Hardy feels himself lunge toward the man, blinded with fury. "Alec!" Ellie exclaims behind him, and she throws her arms around his middle, holding him back. At the same time, Paul Coates and Oliver come running towards them.

"Hey, hey, what's going on here? Let's all settle down, alright?" Paul demands, scolding them like they're his eleven-year-old students. Oliver hovers over his shoulder, trying to look tough but not really succeeding.

Hardy's chest is pounding. In his ear, Ellie says, "Seriously, it's not worth you giving yourself a fucking heart attack, please."

He relaxes a bit at that, falls into her. More people are starting to gather. His head is spinning. "You okay, Ell?" Olly says, coming up to them.

"I'm fine, Oliver, thanks."

At the same time, Paul is speaking softly to John, a comforting hand on his arm.

"Mum?" They all turn toward Tom's voice. Ellie removes herself from Hardy and goes to her son. Kneels on the street and gives him a hug.

"It's all right sweetheart, nothing to worry about. Are you all right?"

Watching mother and child together finally deflates the lumbering John and he shuffles away, with just a glare aimed at the back of Ellie's head. She stands and keeps her arms wrapped around the boy.

"Maybe we should all go home," Oliver suggests.

"Are you coming, Mum?" Tom asks, and shoots Hardy a suspicious glance.

"Of course, sweetheart. Let's go home."

He remains planted in his spot, watching the family walk away. She looks back at him over her shoulder. He wants to say something, but it feels as if half the town is watching. She gives him a small wave and keeps her gaze on him until they've crossed the street.

Later, when he is alone in his hotel room, he receives a text. "Thank you for today. And tonight. X"


	7. Chapter 7

She rings him the next morning.

"How are you?" she asks over the phone.

Truthfully he's still in bed. "Exhausted," he confesses. "And, my feet are sore. So thanks a lot for that, Miller!" He chokes a little on the name. He's been trying to avoid calling her Miller. It's her husband's name, something better to forget. But habits are hard to break.

She doesn't miss a beat. "No pain, no gain, _Sir_." They both chuckle into the phone. "So, I rang because...I was wondering if you'd like to come for dinner. Tomorrow, here at Lucy's."

"Oh, uh, you're sure...you're sure no one will mind?"

"If you mean, Tom, then no. He won't mind. Oliver spent our walk home last night talking about you like you actually own a set of white armour and I think it's caught Tom's attention. My sister won't even be here. She's got...whatever it is she does. I think we're starting to crowd her a bit."

"It hasn't even been a week!" After three nights in the hotel, Lucy suggested Ellie and the boys come stay with her, get out of that cramped and depressing room. Hardy thought it was a good idea for Ellie to be in a more comforting environment. She'd seemed hesitant but eventually agreed it was the best option she had.

"Right, well. Even so. You'll come then?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Will I, erm, uh, will I see you tonight as well?"

She hesitates. "Um, no, sorry. I know the boys are usually asleep and not missing me when I come round to see you, but I feel guilty."

"Ah, okay," he says.

"It's not that I don't want to...will you be okay?"

"Aye, believe it or not my life can go on for a day without you, Ellie."

"Oh! Busy day at the office, then?" The laughter in her voice dies immediately. "I'm sorry, that wasn't funny at all, was it?"

"Only a little," he says. "So, eh, what time do you want me tomorrow?"

"Oh anytime! Whenever you want. Just dinnertime. Evening."

"Okay. I'll see you then."

She hesitates, like she wants to say something, but she doesn't. "Okay, bye then."

He hangs up, and it doesn't take long for him to realize he really doesn't have much to do to pass his time. Last week he was still working, his dismissal postponed until the case was fully wrapped and closed. Yesterday he spent his entire day with her, but today, he hadn't considered. Nor has he really bothered to consider any of the days to come.

In the meantime, he thinks about his options. His body is very tired. He doesn't want to venture a guess how far they walked yesterday. Years ago, he could run marathons, and it's impossible not to be bitter about how swiftly his body has deteriorated over the years. He has a book he's been meaning to read, so he digs it out of his luggage and goes back to bed.

Later in the day, he feels restless and decides to walk again. He's a little overwhelmed at the reception he receives on the street. People are friendly. They've always been friendly to each other, but mostly they've ignored him. And mostly he's appreciated that. Still, this feels nice, this inclusion. Strangers on the street stop him to say hello. Some say thank you for catching Danny's killer. Walking these streets he finds the steady sheath of annoyance he felt for his first two months here has gone. It's not necessarily his favorite place, or one he would have chosen for himself, but he is starting to understand why Ellie loves it so much.

The next day he is antsy. He tries to read his book, but it doesn't hold his interest. He tries going for a walk, runs his errands for the evening, but eventually gives up on stalling and heads to Ellie's sister's house. He sees kids running about, so school must be done for the day. Hopefully "after school" counts as evening.

She answers the door looking a bit frazzled, though they've certainly seen each other look worse.

"Oh! Hullo," she says. "You're...here. Already."

"You said any time."

She laughs lightly, "Well, I guess I assumed you'd come round later than 4 o'clock."

"Shall I..." he uses a thumb to point behind him, "I could come back. Later."

"No! Don't be daft, come in." She pulls the door open further, motions for him to walk through.

"Oh, and here, thought I'd stick with tradition." He hands her a box of chocolate, a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers. He spent more time picking out the wine and the flowers today than he had for her last dinner invitation. 

She smiles wide. "Oh, what lovely flowers. Really stunning, good work."

He tries to hide his own smile as he steps through the entryway.

The inside of Lucy's house is a stark contrast to the warm inviting home the Millers shared. This house looks virtually unlived in, save for the collection of children's toys scattered through a corner of the front room.

"Come on in," she says as she leads him through the house. She takes him to the kitchen where Fred is sat atop the table with a very large crayon and a pad of paper. Tom is seated at the other end of the table, staring at the pages of a large textbook.

"Boys, look, Mr. Hardy is here!" There's excitement in her voice. A distinct contrast to the look on her sons' faces. Fred looks at him completely uncomprehending. Tom shoots him a wary look. Is it distrust? Is it because he accused the boy of murder, or arrested his dad, or is it because he spends so much time with his mother? Probably none of those are winning him any points.

"No need for formality, Alec is fine," he says. He ignores the bemused look she gives him. "How're you doing Tom?"

"Fine," the boy mumbles. He is suddenly very interested in his textbook.

"What are you reading?"

"We're playing a bit of catch up," Ellie says. "Tom goes back to school next week and I don't want him to be too far behind. We've been a bit...relaxed in the homework department lately."

"Ah," he says. "What subject is it?"

Tom doesn't answer, continues to stare at the book. Ellie's brow crinkles at her son's behavior. "It's history," she says, ruffling the boy's hair, "But he's irked because he'd rather be reading _Harry Potter_."

"Well, who wouldn't?" Hardy says. He tries to smile, but Tom looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. He wonders briefly if he should go.

"Well," Ellie says, breaking the tension, "since you're here now, how are you in the kitchen?"

He looks around for a minute. The kitchen is small, and the table with the kids takes up half the space. Suddenly, he's overwhelmed by it all. This family, going through the unimaginable, living in transition. He feels like an intruder. But he looks up and Ellie looks so hopeful, so nervous, and he's absorbed by that protectiveness he's felt ever since he found Danny's secret emails. He wants to do anything and everything he can to help her, to make her happy, and apparently she wants him to stay.

"I'm rubbish to be honest. But I can reach the top shelves, so that's something."

She laughs and looks to be about to say something smart when they're distracted by the loud scraping of a chair against linoleum. "I'm gon' to read in my room," Tom says and leaves without waiting for a response.

When the boy is out of sight Ellie lets her face fall. She looks exhausted. Without thinking he reaches out a hand and rubs her arm. "It's not been easy for him," she says.

"Course not," Hardy agrees.

"He and his dad are so close...were, and now...it's bad enough Joe's not here anymore, but knowing why he's not here... That's a lot of betrayal for one little boy. Plus you know, I don't know what we're doing, and we're living in this crowded house. It's just...it's a lot."

"Yes it is," he says. "So, I shouldn't take it personal then?"

She smirks at him. "Well...I wouldn't go that far. I think you terrify him."

"What, me? What've I done?"

"Well, for starters, he only knows you as mean and scary DI Hardy, not sweet and gentle _Alec_."

"Eh, they're not so different are they? I'm not mean and scary. I'm not sweet and gentle either, for that matter. I'm just...me. I'm just normal."

She scoffs, "Oh please. You're hardly normal."

He ignores the ribbing. "But scary?"

"Hell, you scared the piss out of me half the time back then, how'd you think it'd go with an eleven year old? Plus, you did accuse him of murder."

"What! That was only so I could get Joe's reaction!"

Her look is so incredulous, he's worried her eyeballs will fall out of the sockets. "That... doesn't make it better."

He sighs. "S'pose not. Should I...shall I have a talk with him?"

She gives him the kind of smile that makes him willing to do anything. "You'd do that?"

"Yeah," he says as he heads for the stairs.

Upstairs he finds the bedroom Ellie and the boys are sharing. The door is closed, so he knocks, trying to keep the sound friendly and not like a police matter.

"Who is it?" Tom calls.

A sense of futility takes over. This is a terrible idea. "...It's Alec."

There's no response, and after a few beats he turns to head back downstairs defeated. But as he reaches the top step he hears the latch of the bedroom door.

"What do you want?" Tom says, only an inch of his face visible through the crack in the door.

"I, uh, I wanted to talk to ya."

"What about?" Still no movement to fully open the door.

"About...whatever's bothering you."

Tom opens the door wide enough to give him an all too familiar look. He definitely belongs to his mother. "You mean other than how my best friend dumped me for my dad, and then my dad murdered him, and now I have to share a bedroom with my mum and brother?"

"Yeah that's what I mean. A lot to handle for anybody."

"I guess," the boy says.

"It is. You've been very brave, Tom."

He shrugs, but finally steps aside to let Hardy in. The room is a mess. It would be small for one person, let alone an entire family. That protective thing in him comes back again but he doesn't have any solutions for this particular problem. He knows she doesn't want to go back to her house. It's been released for almost as long as she's been staying here instead.

Tom stands awkwardly near the door, which he's left open. "I'm not brave," he says. "I cried when mum told me, and some more times after."

"Oh that's bollocks! We all cried. Eh, sorry. But you mustn't think a cry means you're not brave. You've acted exactly as you should, maybe better."

Tom nods like he almost believes him.

"Listen, Tom. I just wanted to let you know, I am not your enemy. I apologize if I came off as a bit of an arse during the investigation, but I just wanted to find out what happened to Danny. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," says Tom.

"If you need anything, or have something you want to talk about, you can come to me."

Tom looks at him, considering this offer. He stares a long time, until finally he says, "How long will my dad be in prison?"

Well that was not quite what he'd been expecting.

"Errr..."

Tom ignores his stammering and continues, "Twenty years? Longer? How long do you think it will be until I see him?"

"I dunno. Probably not for a very long time."

"Will I have to testify at his trial?"

"No. He's pleaded guilty, so there's just the sentencing to be done. And even if there was a trial your mum would never let them put you up there."

Tom nods slowly, taking the new information in. "I miss him." His words are so soft they're hard to make out. He looks at Hardy with sad eyes. He is so young. "Mum won't talk about him. It's like she's pretending he doesn't even exist. I hate him for what he's done, but I still miss him. He's my dad, you know?"

In fact he does know. It's exactly how he feels about his ex-wife. "Tom, listen to me. Everything you're feeling now is perfectly natural. He's your dad. He's a huge part of your life. There are people in life that we love unconditionally. You're going to miss him, and you're going to be so bloody angry at him, probably for quite a long while, but it'll get easier. And as for your mom, she's doing the best she can, all right? So do me a favor and go easier on her."

He nods. "So you think it's okay to miss him? I thought maybe there was something wrong with me."

"Not at all." Tentatively, Hardy steps forward and reaches out a hand to ruffle the boy's hair. They both smile, just a little. "D'you want to come back down?"

"No, I've still got more history to do," he says.

Alec glances at the bed where a copy of the _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ waits on the pillow and there are no textbooks anywhere to be seen. He doesn't say anything, figures the boy could use a break.

"Aye, alright. Well we'll just see you downstairs for dinner, then."

"Okay, thanks," Tom says. He's already flopped onto his bed, head in the book, and sort of mumbles the words, but Hardy takes it. Progress, maybe.

Meanwhile, Ellie is not pretending to be subtle. She is waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. "Well?" she says as soon as he's on the same ground as she is.

"It's none of your concern." He tries to keep the tone light and she doesn't press it. A momentary reprieve, he's sure.

He follows her back into the kitchen, where she is greeted with a "Look Mummy!" He can feel her horror radiating off her. In front of them is a tiny little mini-Ellie, same cheeky grin, same flop of curls, standing in the middle of the kitchen table, giant crayon still in hand, arms held wide to present his artwork. The artwork, as it turns out, actually is the kitchen table itself, now turned mostly purple.

"Oh, Fred!" She swipes him off the table and holds him on her hip. "What have you done?" She looks at Alec with pure panic. "My sister is already sick of us, now she's going to kill me!"

He looks at the table, and the waxy purple streaks covering it in chaotic fashion. "Okay, it's okay, don't panic!" His voice sounds a little more anxious than he'd have liked for that sentence. He picks up the crayon and inspects it. Sure enough, they're in luck.

"Aha! Outstanding! It's going to be fine," he says. He walks to the kitchen sink and runs hot water. He finds a sponge and dish soap. "Brilliant, brilliant," he mutters to himself.

His plan works. The crayon's label promising "washable" was correct. With a bit of vigorous scrubbing the purple comes off. "Are you seeing this Ell-? No harm done." When there's no answer he looks up. He's alone in the room.

"Ellie?" he calls.

Still no answer. He leaves the kitchen and finds her sat on the couch rocking Fred. She's crying. When she notices him, she wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and turns away from him. Fred is staring at his mother with wide eyes. "Mummy?" he says.

"Hey, the crayon is washable, it's coming out." Hardy says. He sits down next to her, close enough that his knee knocks into hers.

She shakes her head, not looking at him. "What am I going to do? I've no bloody clue what I'm doing here. How am I going to do it alone? I'm rubbish at it."

"What're you talking about?"

She looks at him with exactly the same wide eyes Fred is giving her. "I left my child, my baby, alone atop a table three feet off the ground, with crayons. Just left him alone in the room! Messing the table is the least that could have happened and I didn't even give it a thought. I'm not cut out to do this alone! I'm not the one who thinks about these things!" She starts crying in earnest then, plump tears rolling down her face.

"Ahh," he says, "Shh, It's okay. C'mere." He pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her, one hand in her hair, the other pressing her into him. Fred remains on her lap, staring at them. She's at an awkward angle, holding onto the boy with one hand, twisting her torso so she can bury her face under Alec's chin. Her free hand loops under his arm and grasps at the back of his neck. His collar is hot and wet with her tears. She is mumbling unintelligible, tearful words against his chest.

His heart hurts. Literally, he can feel the anxiety of this moment teasing his erratic heartbeat. It skips enough beats on its own, without the stress of seeing her like this. Figuratively, he hates what this whole thing has done to her: her spirit, her confidence, all of her, and he hates her husband for doing it to her and their children. He wants to tell her that everything will be alright, but he doesn't want to lie to her and he has no idea if it's true or not.

"Ellie," he says. His voice is so soft, so soothing, he almost doesn't recognize himself. "Ellie, you've got to listen to me now. You are the most caring, devoted person I know. The most dedicated. And you're strong. You will get through this. You're a great mum, with kids who love you. And...and...you aren't alone."

She stills against him, taking long deep breaths that tickle him on the exhale. After a minute she rights herself a bit. Fred takes this moment to wriggle out of her lap and climb down the couch to his toys on the floor. She shifts more fully toward Hardy, still clutching his neck with one hand, and now fiddling with his collar with the other. She meets his eyes with a new look, one he hasn't had a chance to catalog in his growing list of Ellie looks. He still has one hand clutching her shoulders and one nestled in her hair. His heart is starting to go crazy. His head spins, and his breathing is erratic. He's vaguely aware he could drop dead any minute.

"Thank you," she says, so soft he almost misses it.

"I meant every word," he says. The words almost won't come out because his mouth has gone dry and there is something sticking in his throat. Their faces are so close together, and she still has that look.

"Mum?"

With lightning speed she jumps back from him. He's disappointed at the loss of contact but a bit relieved he'll live to see another day. It registers a few seconds too late what's just happened.

"Hi Sweetie," Ellie says, a little out of breath and more than a little suspicious.

Tom gives Hardy a side-eye, and Hardy feels their tentative truce falter. "What's going on?" the boy says.

"Nothing, Sweetheart, everything's fine."

"No it isn't. I can tell. You're...is this because of...because..."

Suddenly Hardy understands Tom's suspicion has nothing to do with their compromising position and stops the boy before he incriminates himself. "It's just been a long day, Tom," he starts to rise, "How about you come into the kitchen and help me clean up the rest of your brother's masterpiece?"

"Masterpiece?" Tom says as he follows.

Tom's eyes go wide when he sees the kitchen table. Ellie, with a squirming Fred on her hip, has followed them. Tom turns around with a look of horror. "Behold, your brother's first great work," Ellie says dryly. Hardy smiles. He's missed that tone.

Without a word, Tom picks up the sponge and gets to work on the table. Ellie walks up behind him and kisses the back of his head. She looks up at Hardy then. "Well, this isn't exactly what I'd envisioned when I invited you round for dinner."

"Well, it's been...an adventure."

She laughs, a genuine and full sound. "I s'pose we can call it that...oh! I guess I'd better fix something."

"What can I do to help?" he says.


	8. Chapter 8

Dinner goes smoothly. Her cooking is good, not quite as elaborate as her husband's was, but he'll gladly accept the trade. She likes the wine he's brought. As promised he was useful at reaching the top shelves but little else, so when they finish eating, he offers to help with clean up. Tom excuses himself to go finish the rest of his homework, shooting Hardy a guilty look on his way out. Ellie must notice this because she stops putting things away to look at him.

"You still haven't told me what you and he talked about," she says.

"Yeah."

"Are you really never going to?"

"Na."

He's annoying her. It's obvious. But he’s not going to betray Tom's trust. "Well...argh...will you just," she stops, collecting herself, "Will you just tell me if I should be worried?"

He turns away from the sink to look at her. Her lips are pursed and her hands are on her hips.

"We both know you're going to worry either way," he says. Judging by her face this was not the proper thing to say. He sighs. "For what it's worth, in my opinion he's handling it brilliantly. He's still hurting, sure, but he's taking it all much better than most, better than I would."

She lets out a breath. "Okay. Thank you." They stand there awkwardly in her sister's kitchen for a few beats. "Um, if it's all right with you I think I'll just go up and put the baby to bed."

The baby is fast asleep in his high chair, head lolled to one side, mumbling nonsense as he dreams. She hoists him up and kisses his cheek. He doesn't stir.

When she comes back down ten minutes later, she looks exhausted, but perks up at the sight of him waiting for her.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi."

"So what now?" He says. Perhaps it's a little presumptuous to think she'll want him to stick around but he gives it a go anyway. "Wine or tea?"

"Wine," she says automatically. "Definitely wine. The bottle you brought is so good." She collects their glasses and the bottle from the kitchen counter and he follows her back to the couch.

She waits for him to sit first and then sits right next to him, not quite touching but not quite a respectable distance either. She sighs, loud and deep, as she settles in against the cushions. She takes a slow sip of her wine and leans her head against the back of the couch as she swallows. He is momentarily mesmerized by the sight of her: her pronounced cheekbones, the length of her neck, the tiny upturn of her nose. He takes a sip of his wine and mimics her movements.

He's starting to think she might be asleep when she breaks the silence with a long sigh. "I've got to find somewhere else to stay."

He lifts his head at that, turns slightly to look at her, takes another drink for strength.

"It's too cramped here. Lucy's sick of us. And that room...you saw it. It'd be fine for just me, or even just me and Fred, but Tom...he really needs his own space."

"What are you gonna do?" he asks.

She takes a drink. He can see her thinking. "I don't know," she says, drinks again. "I don't want...I don't know what I want."

He nods, distracting himself with the wine. He wants to press her, wants her to complete that thought, but he won't. Add that to the long list of things he wants to know but doesn't want to ask her.

Instead he settles back into the cushions beside her and takes another drink. He can feel the wine swirling around his heart. He's paced himself tonight, but still his head is spinning. Though for once it's a relaxing feeling.

"I just need to think about it some more," she says. She reaches over and squeezes his hand.


	9. Chapter 9

He is aware of two things. First, his chest is heavy. Not the usual internal heaviness that he ignores or soothes with pills. This heaviness is outside, a weight pressing down on him. He decides it must be from the same source as the soft downiness pressing against his neck, and whatever is grasping at his shirt.

Second, he's being watched. He opens his eyes slowly and finds Ellie's sister standing over him with an eyebrow raised. Ellie. He looks down. She is sound asleep, draped over him unceremoniously. He sits up a little more, trying not to disrupt her. His legs are stretched out along the length of the couch, Ellie's legs fully entwined with his. He knows how it must seem. He isn't oblivious to the look her sister is giving him. Their empty wine glasses are side by side on the coffee table.

"What time is it?" he asks, his voice a stage whisper.

"Half three," she says. "No need to keep your voice down, she sleeps like the dead."

"You're just getting home?" he asks before he can stop himself.

Ignoring him, she says, "You should wake her. She'll be complaining all day tomorrow if her neck is sore." She leaves the room.

He closes his eyes and tries to convince his body to wake up. He rubs her back, taking in the warm feeling of her against him. She stirs a little, mutters something and tightens her grip on his shirt. He moves his hand from her back into her hair and plays with the curls.

"Ellie," he says. No response. He bends his head down, speaks into her ear. "Ellie, we've got to get up."

He feels as much as hears a "No," against his chest.

"Ellie," he says again, shaking her gently.

Finally she lifts her head, sees him instead of a pillow and presses against him to prop herself up. "What's going on?"

"We fell asleep. I think, the wine..."

She lifts herself completely to a seated position, and he swings his legs down to give her more space. "I'm sorry but you've got to go. If my sister sees us I'll never hear the end of it." He winces beside her. "What?"

"Too late. She woke me up."

Ellie groans and puts her head in her hands.

"Why such a problem?" he says.

She looks at him through her fingers. "No, it's just, my sister loves to gossip. And I just...I can hear it already, 'why am I finding you spread out on top of your boss on my couch in the middle of the night?'"

"Former boss," he says.

She snorts. "As if that matters."

"It matters to me...Listen, just ignore her. Or better yet, ask her why she's just gettin' home at half three in the first place."

She shudders dramatically. "Oh, right. Well, I can guarantee that _that_ is something I don't want to know." She pats his leg and stands up. He follows. She stays close to him, fiddling with his lapels, adjusting his jacket. "I guess you should go," she says, looking up at him. "Do you want a ride home?"

"Na, I'll be all right."

She walks him to the door, lingers against the frame. "Well, be safe. Text me that you've made it?"

"It's five blocks...but, all right." He takes a long look at her. She looks like she might be waiting for something, but he can't be sure. "I had a great time tonight. Thanks for the invite."

"Anytime. See you soon. Goodnight," she smiles softly as she walks back through the door.

Broadchurch is completely empty in the middle of the night. The walk home is quiet, long, and cold. But he feels warm with sleep, wine and thoughts of her.


	10. Chapter 10

The knock on his door comes earlier than expected. He told himself not to come to expect her, though; she's got enough happening with the kids and the living situation and everything else. So when he hears someone at the door he can't help the sudden burst of excitement. Doesn't even bother to hide it.

"Well, well..." he starts halfway through opening the door, but he stops short when he sees the woman waiting in the hallway is tall and blonde and decidedly not who he expected.

"Hi there," Becca Fisher says.

"Oh, um. Hullo," he says.

"May I come in?"

He opens the door wide and lets her pass. "What can I do for you?"

"How're you doing?" she asks. "With the...health, and everything?"

"I'm fine. But why don't you tell me what's happening?"

She shuffles on her feet. "Um, so...this is a little awkward. But, well, the police department paid for you to live here through the end of this month...which is in five days."

"Ah," he rubs his forehead. He's been expecting this.

"Yeah...and you know, we're all so grateful for everything you've done. So...you're welcome to stay longer. I won't charge you. Not yet, I mean. Right now I have the space. But there's a wedding coming in next month and I might need the extra room then. I mean, of course, maybe not, I don't want to put you out, but I do have to take all the paying customers I can get...it's no hard feelings it's just...you know, I have to do what’s best for business..."

"Okay, I get it." She's babbling and it isn't helping anything.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I know you have a business to run. I didn't expect to live in this room forever, or for free. I just have to figure out where I'm going when I leave."

"Maybe you should talk to Ellie," she says. Her words catch him off guard. She says it like this is just the most obvious logical thing to do, which it is, and the easiest, which it certainly is not. He doesn't care for the implication.

"What does that mean?"

She looks at him with...what is that? It looks like pity, like he is the daftest person in the world. "You don't have to pretend with me," she says. "I work here, I know she's been here practically every day since everything happened."

"That's just...we're friends."

"Friends, right. ...Look, I saw you. After the bonfire. You were holding hands, and I saw the way you reacted when that big guy was harassing her. I saw the look on your face."

He doesn't know what to say to that. She's right but she doesn't need him to tell her that. So he stands there, staring at her.

"I'm just saying, if you're sticking around here waiting to see what she's going to do, maybe you should just save yourself some time and ask her. In fact, I have a feeling she might want to hear what you have to say on the matter." She smiles kindly.

He shakes his head. This is absurd. "She's still married," he says.

She gives him that look like he's an idiot, again. "That's what you're going with? Mate, I don't think that's an issue."

"You don't...but she might." He sighs, "It's complicated."

He senses he might have offended her, so he tries again. "I'll try to have a plan by next week."

"I still think you should just ask her," she says. "But either way, I'll see you soon. Let me know what you decide."

Yeah, he thinks, how's he meant to tell her what he's gonna do when he has no idea himself. He has only the faintest notions of what he wants and they involve people rather than destinations or concrete plans. And worse, he's not at all sure what he wants would be best for anyone else involved. The healing process has really only just begun. His head feels hazy. His chest starts to pound to an erratic beat. Right though she may be, he is loath to follow Becca's advice. He's had enough rejection in his life. Anymore would literally kill him.

When he doesn't say anything more, she heads to the door and he follows. As he watches Becca walk away, he sees Ellie, already heading towards his room. Becca gives her a warm hello as they pass. Ellie looks confused.

She smiles inquisitively at him when she is close to where he stands in the doorway. He's too anxious over his conversation with Becca to fully take notice. When she reaches the doorway she stops and studies him.

"What did Becca want?" she asks.

"Nothing," he says. It sounds gruff even to him. He raises an arm inviting her in.

"Was she here about your room?"

How does she do that? "I don't want to talk about it," he says.

"Well...maybe it's—"

He cuts her off. He knows she's about to have the conversation he's dreading, telling him maybe he ought to move on. He's not ready to hear it. "I said I don't want to talk about it!"

She looks a bit stunned. "I was just going to say maybe..."

"For God's sake!" he interrupts again. She just isn’t getting it. "When did not wanting to talk become a crime against humanity?"

Her face shifts from stunned to steel. She gives him a long look, her body tight with anger. "Fine. Don't talk."

And then she leaves.

He rubs his hands over his face, willing the dizziness to fade away. He regrets his behavior immediately. He doesn't want to talk about the future, but he certainly doesn't want to push her away by being a right asshole. The way his heart is reacting to her sudden absence he may not have a future to worry about anyway.

He tries to run after her, but it turns into a sort of stumbling. He takes three deep breaths in the hallway and tries again. By the time he reaches the lobby she's almost at the door.

"Wait! Ellie!" he calls.

She turns looking mad as hell. She's nearly in tears. He hates himself.

"Wait," he says again. When he reaches her, he grabs her by the arms, keeping her close to him. "Please. Don't go."

She looks around and he follows her gaze to see half a dozen townspeople staring at them through the entryway to the bar, including Becca, the vicar, the editor of the newspaper, and her nephew. She takes a deep breath, shakes her head. She still looks near tears, and her cheeks are shiny and pink with embarrassment.

"Please," he says again. "I'm sorry. I reacted...unsavourily."

"Yes you did. But I still don't know to what."

When he doesn't say anything for a minute she turns to leave again. He reaches out and grabs her hand. "Wait. Maybe we can talk about it while I walk you home."

She nods her assent. She glances at everyone in the bar. Most of them are pointedly not looking at them, except Oliver, who is watching like they're performing bloody Shakespeare.

He's trying not to panic. He wasn't ready for this. Does he tell her everything he's been feeling or just press her for details on where she wants to move? She'll see right through the latter, but maybe that wouldn't be so terrible. His head is spinning. He's finding it hard to breathe. She seems to notice because she raises a hand to his chest. He ignores the look on her face, and starts to guide her out of the lobby. But on the first step he stumbles. She catches him, hands gripping at his ribcage.

"Woah, are you all right? Maybe we'd better just go back to your room."

"I'm fine," he mutters, but when he tries to walk, tries to step around her, his legs feel like lead and buckle under him. She's still holding onto him as he falls.

He's aware that she is talking to him. He thinks she might be shouting his name, picks out a "don't" and a "fucking" and a "get" and a "hang on." He can feel her hands on him, on his face and chest, but it's as if he's sinking under water and she's calling to him from shore. Even her face is blurred by the waves, but not so much that he misses the fear on her features.

He hears others now, but specific words are fading. He can hear Becca's Aussie accent somewhere and he sees Paul's face leaning over him opposite Ellie. He looks at her again. She might be cupping his face. He thinks he might feel her hot tear land on his cheek.

Everything goes black then.


	11. Chapter 11

He wakes up to the sound of beeping. For a moment, he is back in that field, smart phone in hand, searching for Joe. But no, that can't be right.

 

Everything hurts. Everything feels heavy. His throat is dry. He opens his eyes, and when they focus he finds Ellie sitting by his bedside. Déjà vu. "We've got to stop meeting like this," he croaks.

 

She does not smile. "Not funny," she says. The bags under her eyes are protruding fiercely, a sure sign she's tired and upset. He closes his eyes again so he doesn't have to look at her.

 

"No," he agrees, eyes still closed.

 

"You almost died. Again." she says, nearly choking on the words.

 

He sighs, "For God's sake, the confidentiality in this place is abysmal."

 

"They didn't have to tell me, I was there! I saw it with my own eyes. They had to do that...that thing with the shock paddles...defibrillate. On the way to hospital, in the ambulance."

 

"Well looks like I pulled through."

 

She scoffs. "Only sort of."

 

He stares at her and she stares back. She looks so tired. He moves a hand out toward her, and with a sigh, she takes it. They stay there, in silence, their clasped hands resting on his bed.

 

"I'm sorry," he says eventually.

 

"You need the surgery," she says.

 

"No."

 

She makes a sound very near a growl. "Don't be childish. You need it."

 

"They already said I might not survive. I'd rather die on my own than on an operating table."

 

"You're wrong," she says. Her eyes are glistening. His mouth twitches. "They have to say that, to anyone about any procedure. For liability purposes. You might not survive the surgery, _or_  you might not survive walking down the stairs. I talked to the doctor. I asked him a million questions this morning, I think I scared him into answering." Hardy imagines that is exactly what she did, can hear the bossy tone in his head.

 

"He thinks it's best if you go through with it-" She breathes long and deep, desperate for something outside of her to keep her going. "You might die if you have the surgery, but you will do if you skip it."

 

He can't look at her when she is looking at him like that, like he is utterly important. Turning away from her, he says, "I don't know."

 

"Please," she says. Her voice is rough, her throat full. She brings her chair closer, leaning her elbows on the bed beside him. She covers their joined hands with her free one. He looks at her then; the pain in her eyes is unfathomable, and it's incredible to remember everything she's been through so recently. "I'm not ready to be rid of you quite yet," she says.

 

She's winning this argument, but he's not ready to admit defeat. "I'll think about it," he says.

 

She scoots the chair back and stands, folding her arms over her chest. "Well, you better think fast because it's scheduled for 8:30 tomorrow morning."


	12. Chapter 12

The next time he opens his eyes, he can only assume he's having a nightmare. He's still in the hospital, only now the room is riddled with flowers and balloons and other pointless "Get Well Soon" paraphernalia. Next to his bed is a giant fluffy teddy bear with a heart in the middle. On the other side of his bed is another giant fluffy teddy bear, but that one was, until recently, his detective sergeant.

 

She's sitting as close as possible to his bedside in a chair that looks hideously uncomfortable. Her head is rolled to the side, her mouth hanging open as she sleeps.

 

"Ellie," he says, except on the first try the words don't quite make it out of his throat. He puts a lot of effort into wetting his mouth and tries again. It's a little louder. "Ellie."

 

This time she starts. All four of her limbs fly up into the air with the sudden waking. She immediately snaps to attention, stands up, ready for action. "What? What is it? Do you need something? Ice chips or..."

 

"Go home," he says.

 

"What?"

 

"Go home. There's no reason for you to be here. That chair looks like it's rubbish to sleep in. Go home. Sleep in a bed. I'll still be here in the morning...no thanks to you."

 

"No," she says. "I'm not leaving. Someone's got to be here to tackle you if you try to escape. Besides," she checks her watch, "It's practically already morning. The nurses will be round soon to wake you."

 

He can see she isn't going to back down from this, so he drops the subject. Turns to another pressing matter. "Well if you're gonna stay, maybe you can tell me what in the bloody hell is all this?"

 

She looks around the room. "You mean, the gifts?"

 

"Aye, if that's what you can call them. What am I supposed to do with a bunch of balloons in a hospital room?"

 

She gives him a cheeky grin. "Curious to know what you'd do with them someplace else instead."

 

"Pop the bastards."

 

"Do you want me to hand you one for popping?" She's amused by this.

 

He sighs. "No. But you can at least tell me who is responsible for this." He nods his head toward the teddy bear.

 

"Oh yeah, that makes quite the impression, doesn't it? I'm not sure where it came from to be honest, I ran home earlier to check on the boys and have a bite to eat. He was here when I got back."

 

"I don't like it."

 

"Yes, thanks, that's quite clear. Let me check who sent him."

 

The card is on the floor, under the bear's leg. When she reads it, a full spectrum of emotion flits over her face in a moment, before finally settling on surprise.

 

"It's from Chloe Latimer," she says.

 

"What?" He takes the card. He's hardly spoken to Chloe except when he was addressing the entire family. It says, _Thank you for everything you did for Danny and my family. He would have liked this bear. Hope you do too. Get Well Soon, DI Hardy. –Chloe L._

 

"It must feel good," Ellie says. She is standing over him, head bent, foot kicking at nothing on the ground. When she finally glances at him, he raises an eyebrow at her. "Catching the killer."

 

"No," he shakes his head with enough force to make himself dizzy. Beside them, his heart monitor protests.

 

"I just mean...if it had been...if it wasn't...with any other case, you caught the killer. I never said congratulations. I've been too...I mean if it hadn't been Joe, you'd have been ecstatic." She actually looks sincere. Sometimes he cannot believe her.

 

"But it was Joe. I liked Joe. More importantly I like you. Any other case, you'd be right...maybe. But this wasn't just any case. It's certainly not one to celebrate."

 

She watches him a long time, like she is checking for all possible signs of doubt. His head is starting to hurt and he wants to lay it back down, but he doesn't want to break eye contact. Finally she steps forward, takes his hand again.

 

"You need to rest. We need you to get better."

 

"We?"

 

"Well, I do anyway."

 

He has nothing to say to that. There are no guarantees and she's much more optimistic than he is. Some things don't change. Still, he takes her advice and closes his eyes, drifts back to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Someone is touching him. "Ellie?"

"Mm, I'm here," she says.

Her voice is much too far away to be the person touching him now. He opens his eyes. A stout middle-aged woman with stern eyes looks back at him. "Almost time to head in there, Mr. Hardy."

He lets out a sigh. Ellie comes up to him on the side opposite the nurse. "All right," she says.

He looks at her, stares into her eyes like he is mapping a route through them. He wants to tell her things, but his head is still spinning and he doesn't have the heart for it. Quite literally.

"So," she says. "It might not be my place but, is there—should you call someone?"

Of course. His daughter, Charlotte. If she's awake she'll be getting ready for school. Busy. Always busy. She has a life completely separate from him. Maybe it's not even worth a try. Clearly anticipating his next move, Ellie hands him his cell phone. "She'll want to know," she says.

He takes the phone, and his fingers tremble as he tries to navigate the device. "Here," she takes the from his hand, "Let me." After a second she gives the phone back. It's already connecting.

He lets out a long breath. His chest is pounding. The phone rings and rings until he hears the all too familiar refrain of her voicemail message. Deep breath in. "Ah, hi Darling. This is Dad. I just wanted to eh...I'm calling because, um...just...just want to make sure you know I love you. All right, erm, bye."

His eyes burn with the sting of saltwater. He drops the phone into his lap, lets out a sigh. Ellie takes a step closer to him. She looks at him for a minute, sympathy dripping off her features. Hesitantly she raises a hand, and runs it through his hair. The comforting sensation of her fingers radiates through him. "You'll talk to her after the procedure's finished."

"We'll see," he says.

The hand in his hair stops for a second, and then slides down the back of his head until she is gripping his shoulder. "Now you listen to me, you. You've got to keep a good attitude about this. You're going to be fine. They'll put the pacemaker in and sew you back up and you'll be back on your feet in no time, alive to harangue and complain and irritate another day."

Her words are so fierce he nearly believes them. She holds his gaze until they're interrupted.

"I'm sorry ma'am," the nurse says, "We need to finish getting him prepped, we'll need you to step outside."

"Oh right, of course, sorry." Her face softens. "I will see you on the other side." After a moment of hesitation, she leans in and kisses him on the forehead. Her lips are dry and rough, but they flood him with warmth.

"Ellie," he says, just as she's turned to go. She looks back. "...See you soon."

She seems to understand these words are code for a hundred others, and she nods, smiling softly as she leaves.


	14. Chapter 14

As she predicted, he survives. Barely. When he wakes up, she's waiting for him, looking like she hasn't slept in days. When she notices that he's conscious she bursts into action, pressing the call button incessantly and hovering over him, spitting out a list of any possible thing he might need right now.

Finally he interrupts her, "Stop mothering me and tell me what's happened." It hurts to speak.

She looks nervous. This isn't going to be good. "I'll let your doctor explain," she says. She takes his hand in both of hers and fiddles with his fingers.

"No," he says. "You tell me. Now."

"The doctor will know more of the details..."

"Well, how about you start with the basic facts before he gets here?"

She sighs. "Fine. There were...complications. You had a heart attack on the operating table. So they stopped the operation..."

"So they didn't do it?" He knows that's not right because it actually feels like someone has stuffed a metal box in his chest.

"Well, yeah. They went back in later and finished it up. So you've had two surgeries. It's been three days."

"Three days?" He tries to shoot up out of bed, but he feels an intense throbbing in his chest. His monitors go berserk. She lays a hand on his shoulder and coaxes him back down.

"You have to stay calm. You're in a bit of a...fragile state," she says.

"What does that mean?"

She shakes her head. "It just means...the surgery was successful. You've got the pacemaker in. But the doctors are still worried about the strength of your heart. You have to try and keep relaxed." She's looking at him like she thinks this is an impossible task.

In honor of her instructions, and to prove her wrong, he does not argue. He lets out a sigh and settles back in. "How long are they keeping me here then?"

"The doctor said it would depend on what happened today, but probably another four or five days."

"Ugh, that long?"

"They just want to make sure you'll be all right."

He sighs again.

The doctor tells him virtually exactly what Ellie has already said. He reiterates the importance of rest and keeping calm. Tells him they'd like to keep him in hospital for monitoring for "a few days."

The next day, she is still there, in her chair by his side. She's brought Fred with her, and he is settled at the foot of the bed, using Hardy's ankles as a table top for his pile of brightly colored blocks. It's quite cute, the way the child works so diligently, muttering to himself when a block topples over on the soft round surface of blankets and legs. Hardy occupies himself watching the boy, while Ellie is watching some insufferable daytime TV program, or pretending to at any rate.

Eventually Fred bores of his building project and starts to whimper. He looks around him and then makes eye contact with Hardy. He raises his eyebrows at the boy, crossing his eyes a little. Fred giggles and crawls up the bed, alongside the length of Hardy's body and sits himself next to the man's shoulder, coming nearly face to face with him. He pokes Hardy in the nose. Hardy makes the face again and Fred howls with laughter.

"Don't look now, but I think you've made yourself a friend!" Ellie laughs.

They stay like that for quite a while. Hardy making strange faces and watching the toddler's gleeful reaction. Occasionally Ellie will reach from behind and give her son a tickle, perpetuating another fit of giggles. A wave of unexpected contentment washes through him, observing this child, a tiny boy clone of Ellie, young enough to live his life with the absolute freedom to be happy. Simply watching another person's face is enough to entertain Fred. There's not a worry, no sadness in the world for him. Behind him Ellie is looking at them like perhaps she's had the same thought. A kind of wistful serenity has taken over her tired features. She looks lovely.

A knock on the door distracts his musings. It's a young nurse he hasn't seen before. "Hi hi, sorry to interrupt! I just need to check your vitals and look after that wound of yours and administer your meds. Just be a few minutes."

"Actually, I'd better get going anyway," Ellie says. "I've got to get Tom and then I have some things that need tending to...if that's all right with you?"

"Yeah, course."

"I'll be back round later, though?" It's posed as a question, as if she has ever waited for an invitation. As if it's necessary.

"Good," he says.

With Fred packed away in his pushchair, she inspects the foot of the bed for any errant building blocks, and scans the room one last time for other remaining baby items. When she's satisfied she comes back to the head of the bed and looks down at him. "Tonight then," she says, and squeezes his hand.

As she's making her way out the door she says, "Wave bye bye, Fred!" and the child complies with a happy little, "Bye bye, bye bye!"

The nurse grins at Fred. "What a little heartbreaker. Such a lovely family you've got there, Mr. Hardy!"

He opens his mouth, but can't quite bring himself to correct her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I did do some research on pacemakers/arrhythmia, but I'm definitely not a doctor, so if the medical stuff doesn't make sense, I'm sorry and thank you for engaging your suspension of disbelief!


	15. Chapter 15

He sleeps most of the rest of the afternoon. He wakes now and then, but whenever he is conscious he feels profoundly tired. When the young nurse returns he mentions it, and she assures him it is a combination of the pain meds and his heart getting used to its new rhythm. Nothing to worry about.

Later, he can tell it is night because there is no light sneaking in through the closed blinds of his hospital room window. On a table top over his lap is a covered tray of food he has no interest in eating. Ellie is nowhere to be seen.

He presses the call button and the nurse comes in. "Have I had any visitors?" he asks without ceremony.

She smiles, "I haven't seen her back, sir, not yet. But in the meantime you should eat your dinner."

"I can't eat that," he says.

The nurse smiles at him, but she looks condescending and he's annoyed already. "I know it's not the best thing, Mr. Hardy, but your body needs to eat something. You really need your calories for energy to heal."

"I'll eat, I'm just not eating whatever this is." For effect he opens the tray, where he finds an unrecognizable gray thing and some soft, sad looking broccoli.

"This food is really good for your heart, the best thing you can eat for your recovery. Just give it a try, it might not be as bad as you think it'll be."

"Listen, Nurse, I don't need your..."

"Giving you trouble, is he?" Ellie is standing in the doorway, smirking at him. "Sorry if he's being too bothersome. I can take over from here."

The nurse nods, looking grateful for the escape. She hurries out. Hardy takes a long look at Ellie, and knows immediately that her cheerfulness is for show.

"What's wrong?" he says.

She shakes her head. "Not yet." She digs into her bag and produces a thermos. "Here, brought you something."

"Ah fantastic!"

"Sorry, it's not black, it's green. And decaf. I know it's not your normal but better than nothing."

He tries not to grimace. He's unsuccessful. She rolls her eyes. "Just try it," she says.

He gives it a sip and it's not too bad. He nods his thanks at her. "What else've you got in there?"

She produces a large bag of grapes. "Seedless," she says with a cheeky grin. "Your favorite. I also brought you that salad I made you before. You seemed to like it." She hands him a plastic box.

"Aye, much better than this poison they're giving me here."

"C'mon, it can't really be that bad," she says. He opens the tray for her. Her face crinkles. "Oh, right, well, you'll be gone from here soon."

"Not soon enough."

She rubs a hand along his arm as she takes her normal seat at his bedside.

"Tell me what's wrong," he says.

She exhales, a sound nearly as exhausted as he feels. He watches her, the lines in her brow pronounced, the bags under her eyes protruding. She avoids his gaze by looking up at the ceiling and digs her hands into her hair. "Tom's been having trouble at school."

They'd talked about the possibility of this. They'd been dreading it. "What kind of trouble?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "A lot of teasing. The teacher said she's had to break it up all week. But today it uh...today it ended in blows. Tom has a split lip. He gave one of the other boys a black eye and bloodied his nose. Came home sobbing," she sniffles, wipes at tears forming in her eyes. "Kids say the most awful things. The fight today happened when some little shit got the whole class to start calling him Paedo Jr. How is an 11 year old supposed to deal with that? He shouldn't even know what it means! And how am I meant to tell him everything will all be all right, when I don't think it will be?" She's crying now, teardrops raining on her shirt, shoulders shaking violently.

The familiar feeling of protectiveness overwhelms him. "Hey, Ellie. Hey," he says. She looks up at him, eyes wide. She looks so lost, so sad. A sense of melancholy radiates from her. He reaches out a hand to her, and she's just within reach. "Come here," he says, and pulls on her arm. He scoots his body over on the bed as best he can, pushing the tray table to the side, and pulls on her again, guiding her to join him.

She shakes her head. "I can't. You'll..."

"Just come on."

She crawls onto the bed and lines her body up with his, burying her face against his good shoulder, draping an arm low on his waist. He can't move his other arm much yet, but he bends it so he can draw soothing patterns on her shoulder. He can feel her tears on his skin through the frail cover of his hospital gown. Her crying subsides, replaced with slow, heavy breathing. He shifts slightly to turn his head, and kisses her temple. He lets his lips rest there, under her hairline. Her body stills. She moves, breaking free of his kiss, adjusting to look at him. At first, he doesn't understand the expression on her face. It's familiar, but unexpected. She doesn't look confused or questioning. Or even sad. She looks...decisive. He realizes why about a half second before her lips are on his. Her entire face pressed up into his.

It's the gentlest thing. Dry lips on dry lips, settling together really, rather than any kind of action. Her face is wet but warm and soft. He wants to fall into her skin, and so he opens his mouth, just to get that much closer. She responds and their kiss deepens. It's sensual, but comforting somehow. There's nothing lurid about it. No desperation, no urgency. He holds onto her arm for leverage. For security. He is so fully engrossed in her lips on his, on the feel of her face against his, hours could have passed and he wouldn't know it. She grips his hip and pushes her body flush against him. Her tongue drags along the edge of his. His body begins to respond.

And then, of course, his heart monitors begin to respond as well. She halts everything, keeping her mouth against his, until recognition dawns and her eyes grow wide, milimetres from him. She hurtles herself off the bed, only just barely landing on her feet. Her eyes are wild and dramatic, darting from him to the heart monitor and back again. She's panting—so is he—and she runs her hands into her hair, squeezing her head.

The heart monitors may be racing but he feels fine. Good even. He's about to tell her as much when the young nurse comes running in again. When she sees them she stops in her tracks, puts her hands on her hips and smirks at the two of them. He glances at Ellie. Her entire face is a very bright red. Her lips are impossibly swollen. For a split second he is distracted by how good she looks like that, and how much he likes that he's caused it. But then he realizes he probably looks just the same, except it's not only his lips that are swollen. He shifts in bed, rearranging the blankets.

His attempts at a coverup do not work. The nurse walks over and taps a button on the monitor, grabs the chart and makes a note. Then, she goes back to smirking at them. "I'm sorry to interrupt Mr. Hardy, but I'm afraid you'll have to refrain from any...activities...that might get you...excited."

"No, of course not!" Ellie says, her voice manic. "So sorry! Won't happen again!"

Overcompensating as ever, he thinks. The nurse shoots him a final warning look and leaves the room.

"Oh my god!" Ellie says. She gives him a sheepish look, face still red, lips still plumped. He reaches out and can't get hold of her hand so he tugs on her t-shirt instead. She takes a step closer instinctively, then just as quickly pulls back. "No, I'll keep my distance. You heard her."

He feigns innocence. "You started it!"

"I did no—oh god, I did didn't I?" She lets out a nervous laugh, sitting on the edge of the bed. Picking at the material of his blanket she says, "Dunno what came over me."

He plucks at her fingers, weaving them lightly with his own. "Just assumed ya couldn't resist my boyish charm," he says.

She snorts. "That _must_ be it," she deadpans. But their eyes meet and their fingers still and the room sizzles. He tries to pull her back to him, heart condition be damned, but she releases his fingers and stands again.

"I better go before I accidentally kill you."

"I'll be fine," he says.

"You think that now..." she says, sly grin plastered on her face. She retrieves her trusty orange jacket, then comes back and kisses him on the cheek. "Sweet dreams," she says.

She's nearly to the door when he calls to her. "Ellie," he says, "It'll be all right. With Tom...and everything." She nods though she doesn't look fully convinced. "See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," she says. Watching her leave, he settles back against his pillows. How he is ever supposed to stay relaxed now, he has no bloody idea.


	16. Chapter 16

He suspected the days would drag on slowly and painfully. So far he's been right. On the third of five post-surgical mornings, Paul Coates and Becca visit. He doesn't have much to say to them, has never been interested in pleasantries and small talk, so they don't stay long. The influx of cards and flowers seems mercilessly unending, but no one else makes a personal appearance.

He'd like to call his daughter again, but cell phones are not allowed in his room while his heart recovers and the pacemaker settles. The nurses offer to bring in a phone so he can call on a hospital line, but he declines. Might as well wait until he has better news to report to her.

Ellie is in and out. She seems distracted. When he asks what's going on one day she mumbles, "Tom and everything," but she is extremely uninterested in discussing either Tom or anything else of substance, so he decides to table all inquiries until he's not so restricted by bloody beeping monitors. Fred wakes from a nap in his pushchair and he breaks the awkward silence with semi-coherent babbling. He watches as she picks up her child and settles him in her lap. She bounces him for a moment and he giggles. But when the boy's eyes settle on Hardy his arms reach out to him. He wriggles in his mother's lap as if willing his tiny arms to reach. "Oh, you want to pay a visit to your new friend, do you?" Ellie asks the boy.

The boy looks up at his mother before reaching out for Hardy again, trying valiantly to communicate his intentions. Ellie sighs. "Do you mind? Are you up for it?" she asks.

"Na, don't mind. Bring him here." She places Fred on the mattress next to him, where Fred sits contentedly and stares at Hardy's face in a near reenactment of the previous day. Ellie brings her chair up as close as possible, elbows on the bed, one arm blocking the baby's chance of falling off. She looks exhausted. Hardy rubs his hand up and down the length of her arm.

He flicks his tongue out at Fred, sending the boy into a fit of giggles. Ellie chuckles. "He's really taken a shine to you," she says.

He glances at her and notices the admiring look on her face. "Bit strange," he says. "Kids don't usually like me much...same as the adults, I suppose."

"Maybe you just need to be nicer to them. You're obviously capable."

He shakes his head. "Never saw the point. If I don't want to talk to you, I'm not going to pretend otherwise just to make you feel better."

"Even when you're talking to a toddler?" There's laughter in her voice, but at the same time, she's looking at him like she's slightly worried he's a deranged sociopath.

"Luckily for everyone, I only associate with the highest quality toddlers," he says, tickling Fred lightly.

Fred squeals in delight. Ellie laughs again, and drops the subject.

He plays with Fred a little while longer, until they are both ready for naptime. In a haze, he watches Ellie settle the boy back in his pushchair. "Will I see you again later?" he says.

She turns to him, approaching. "I'm not sure. I don't think so," she says.

He's too tired to hide the disappointment from his face. "It's not because...regrets?"

She half smiles and lets out a puff of air. "No, not exactly." To prove her point she runs her fingers through his hair, then drags them down his cheek. "It's not that I don't want to come back, but I need to spend more time with Tom. I sent him back to school today. He was kicking and screaming but I had him go. Just to give it another try. But I'm not very optimistic."

He reaches out and squeezes her hip, an offer of comfort.

Her eyes sparkle. "And, all right, I am still a little bit worried about killing you. You need to focus on resting and getting better without all these distractions from me."

"I like your distractions," he says.

"Me too," she says. She fusses with his blankets and coaxes him down further into the bed, tucking him in like a child. "Just a few more days."

He knows she's right because he is so tired he's having trouble keeping his eyes open. "But I'll see you tomorrow?" he says.

"Yeah, tomorrow. And if you really need something the nurses have my number. They can ring."

He falls asleep before he has the chance to answer.


	17. Chapter 17

Day five finally arrives. It's a Saturday. Ellie has been to see him every day, and every day she seems to be more anxious than the day before. She's kept quiet about what's bothering her, which alarms him more than anything else. He hasn't known her to keep quiet about anything, ever. Over the last three days he's gotten progressively more paranoid that she is going to tell him she can't see him anymore, that there's no place for him in her life with everything going on with her kids. It would be a completely responsible decision on her part, but it sends him into a slight panic nonetheless. He tries, and fails, not to think about it because whenever he does the damn heart monitor beeps its warnings over his anxiety and rising heart rate.

Today she is here when he wakes, saying she didn't know what time he'd be discharged so she thought she ought to come over straight away. She's come armed with green tea and a change of clothes for later. "Imagine my surprise to learn you own clothing that isn't a full suit," she says, producing a pair of trousers, a t-shirt and a jumper.

"You went through my things?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "I'm sorry, you'd have preferred walking out of here bare-assed in that sheet?" Nodding her head at his hospital gown.

He shrugs, "Could've just worn the suit I came in with."

She shakes her head. "I took it to the cleaners a week ago."

"What? What'd you do that for?"

"It smelled like..." She scrunches her face up and waves her hands at him and his medical equipment, "...heart failure."

He grunts. "Heart failure does not have a smell."

"Well your suit did, so I had it cleaned, and it's done now so you can quit arguing."

He knows there's no reason to continue bickering, accepts that she's done him a favor, so he says nothing. It's just that it all feels so domestic. Then again, she's been bringing him anything from coffee to neckties since long before she started enjoying his company. He watches her now, as she putters around the room, slowly gathering up his "get well soon" collection. He can't remember the last time someone voluntarily spent this much time with him, or helped him like it was second nature.

She keeps a consistent chatter going as she gathers the items lining the table on the other side of the room. "Oh look at this nice card from Maggie," or "Our Chief Super really has nice taste in flowers." Occasionally she'll look over at him to show him what she's admiring, and he'll nod his head, not because he gives a damn about cards or flowers but just to show he's paying attention to her. He basks in the comfort of the whole thing, and idly wonders at what exact point her attitude towards him changed.

Late morning, the doctor comes in to give him instructions for at-home recovery.

"You'll need to take very good care of yourself," he says. Then, he turns to Ellie, standing guard by the bed. "Plenty of rest. As little salt in the diet as possible. Watch out for fatty foods as well. No caffeine or alcohol. Particularly in the beginning. He may be in a bit of a foul mood at first..."

"Well, no change there, Doctor, don't have to warn me on that front," Ellie says.

The doctor continues as if uninterrupted. "Light exercise is important. Short walks around the neighborhood, that kind of thing. No lifting anything over ten pounds. Try not to put any pressure on the left side, and do not let him raise the left arm above shoulder level. Do not get the wound wet until the stitches have dissolved. That should take three weeks. Also for the first week the dressing on the wound should be changed every day. You should also take his pulse at least once a day to verify the pacemaker is working properly. He'll need to be back here for his first follow-up and rehab session a week from Monday."

"I'm not a bloody child, you can say this all to me," Hardy says.

The doctor shifts his attention. "Generally, when giving instructions, I prefer to give them to the person most likely to follow them accordingly. Given how many times my nurses say you threatened to leave hospital care, I think continued supervision will be best."

"Careful, Doctor," Ellie says, "Don't want to give him another heart attack before he's had a chance to make it out the building."

Hardy glares at both of them. He does not appreciate them ganging up on him. Nor does he appreciate the presumptuousness of the doctor's instructions. They are not going to do anyone any good.

"You'll find a pharmacy on the first floor where you can pick up his medications. Follow the instructions precisely," the doctor says. "I'll see you next week." He starts out the door, "Oh, and I'm sorry but no sex for a month or so. Be well, Mr. Hardy."

Ellie makes a sound like she has choked on something sharp.

"Bloody doctors," Hardy says.

He watches her as she successfully tamps down her embarrassment. It takes her a full minute to look at him. "You're finally free!" She smiles big. "How about I go pick these up while you get dressed?" she says, holding up his prescriptions.

"All right."

She's practically bouncing, radiating nervous energy as she leaves the room. He spends her ten-minute absence coming up with a range of scenarios for what will happen next. She'll drop him at the Traders and finally be rid of him. She'll drop him at the Traders and insist on staying with him, sure he is incapable of caring for himself. She'll try to convince him to live on her sister's couch. She'll tell him it's been a horrible mistake and leave him in the hospital waiting room. She won't come back at all.

But of course, she does come back, because she is Ellie, fiercely loyal, to a fault. "All set?" she says, smiling again.

He tells his brain to just stop. He's out of the sodding hospital, so things can't possibly get worse. The world is not going to end. She's been a great friend and will continue to be.

"Thank you" he says.

She raises her eyebrows. "For what?"

He waves his good arm around the room. "You know, tea, clothes, meds...being here, with me."

She laughs, nervous again. "You might not want to thank me yet."

"What?"

"Oh. Nothing, just...I'm a bit of a stickler when it comes to doctor orders."

"I'll take my chances," he says.

An orderly arrives with a wheelchair to escort him out.

"No," Hardy tells him.

"Sir?" The orderly says.

"I'm not riding in that. Doctor says light exercise. First walk starts now."

"Sir, it's hospital policy."

"Don't care. I'm walking."

"Sir, what if he walks and I just push the chair behind him in case he starts to wobble?" Ellie says.

"Fine, have it your way," the orderly says. He leaves them the chair and exits the room.

"Bit soft," Hardy says, watching the orderly go. "Thought he'd put up more of a fight."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Alright your Majesty, after you."


	18. Chapter 18

Truthfully the walk down the hallway, and the wait for the lift and the subsequent walk to the hospital entrance takes virtually all the energy he's got, though he'd never admit it. But of course Ellie notices anyway, and suggests he wait on a bench by the door while she retrieves her car from the car park.

By the time he is settled in the seat next to her, his body is so tired he dozes off. Which is probably why it takes him so long to notice when they don't go back to Broadchurch.

"Shouldn't we be there by now? Where are we going?" His voice is thick with sleep and painkillers.

She takes in a deep breath. "We're going home."

"No we're not. We could've been to the Traders twice by now. Where are you taking me?"

She shoots him a quick look before returning her eyes to the road. "About that. I'm serious. We're going home. I've...I've found a house in Poole. Just a rental for now, but it'll do."

"You've moved an hour away? When were you planning to mention it?"

She shrugs. "When we got there I s'pose."

"And not sooner?"

"Well I wasn't sure how you'd react! But I had to get away from that town. I couldn't bear to send Tom back to that school for even another day longer. I want to start again, somewhere bigger, where no one knows us and everyone has lives of their own. You know? Only, thing is, I couldn't just let you go back and fend for yourself alone in a hotel room. And I thought you might fight me on it. You do that. Always insisting you're all right when you aren't. So I'm taking you home with me, whether you like it or not. This way you've got a room on the first floor, no hotel food, and you'll have people around who will take care of you while you're in recovery."

He gapes at her. "So you've...kidnapped me."

She lets out an exasperated huff. "You're free to go anytime. No one said you have to stay forever."

They both remain quiet for a long time as he processes this new information. He stares out the window at the trees and grass fields whirring past, near-empty roads ahead, endless blue sky over them. He'd have liked to have been involved in the decision, but it does solve several of their problems, including saving him the awkwardness of having to ask. "You didn't have to do this, you know."

"Yeah, I did."

"You didn't."

"I told you, I had to get away from there, for Tom, and for me."

"No, I meant you didn't have to take me with you."

She looks at him, hard, until the sound of a passing truck reminds her she's driving. "It's the least I could do. And it's done so that's that."

The least she could've done, he thinks, is call an ambulance when he collapsed ten days ago. Everything she's done since has been superfluous. She seems to think she owes him some kind of debt, when as far as he's concerned the opposite is true. But right now he's too tired to argue, and too relieved to know he has somewhere to stay, even better with her.


	19. Chapter 19

After an hour in the car, Ellie pulls into the drive of a large, modern looking white house. Aside from the color, it could not be more different from her house in Broadchurch.

"This it?" he asks.

"Yeah. Why? Do you not like it?"

"I haven't even seen it, I'm just asking. Not what I expected."

She looks from him to the house and sighs. "Yeah, looks a bit posh, doesn't it? Oliver found it. It's a friend of a friend of Maggie's or something. I didn't ask too many questions, all I know is there's room for all of us and they let me have it cheap enough and straight away. And it's a safe neighborhood with good schools. Plus you know, it is different. That's the goal here, 'different.'"

She comes to his side of the car and helps him out, despite his protests that he is bloody well capable of getting up on his own. She hovers around him as they walk to the front door. After a small struggle with the lock, she ushers him in.

Inside the house is bright, and even swankier than it looks on the outside, with shiny kitchen appliances and artsy looking light fittings. He settles himself into an art deco barstool at the kitchen island. "It's nice," he says. "Is this your furniture?"

"Does it look like it'd be my furniture?"

"No."

"No.” She sighs. “I brought over things I could carry, and I'll hire a truck to bring some more stuff, but the house came this way. There wasn't time if I was going to get in here fast, so I said it was fine if it came furnished. I want to sell most of the things in the old house anyway. If I can find a person in town who would take them." She fiddles with the blinds on the large windows that cover the entire back wall. "It's a bit of a change, but that's the point."

She's babbling a little. He walks up behind her and rests a hand on her shoulder. She turns to look at him. "What do you really think?"

He looks around the open space, pursing his lips, deciding on what to say. "I like it."

She nods. "I'm thinking of painting. I think that'll help."

He nods along, which makes him dizzy.

"You look like you need to lie down. Do you think you can manage up the stairs? If not there's the lounge down here, we could probably fix a bed up in there."

"The stairs are fine." To prove his point, he takes the lead, and makes it to the landing. He tries to hide his heavy breathing, unsuccessfully.

She gives him a skeptical look. "You sure it won't be a problem?"

"Just lead the way," he says, avoiding the question.

She holds the skeptical look a moment longer, but acquiesces. "You're here on the first floor, with Fred and me. Tom was keen to have the room on the top floor. I think it has a sort of secret clubhouse appeal for him, so he's up there. Yours is this one here."

He looks around. He'll be sharing a bedroom wall with her. Suddenly the big posh house seems much smaller. He steps into the room and she follows, stopping beside him. The room itself is a welcome change from the sterile hospital room and hotel room before it. The bed is large and inviting. But it's the bedside cabinet that catches his attention. Stacked atop it are several mystery novels and a framed photograph. He steps closer to look at it. It's a photo of his daughter. "Where on earth did you find that?"

Ellie smiles proudly. "Nicked it from your wallet, copied it, got it blown up."

He smiles at her, a grin so wide it makes the taut skin on his cheeks hurt. "Thank you." He rubs a circle on her back.

"You're welcome. I want you to feel at home here. I've unpacked your suitcase, hope you don't mind, everything's in the closet." He takes another look around. "Do you like it?" she says.

"I do," he says. Truthfully he's only been here five minutes and it's the most he's felt at home in at least a year.

She gives him a relieved smile.

"What did you tell Tom, exactly? About me being here."

She shrugs, as if it's obvious. "I said you're staying here while you recover. What should I have said?"

He doesn't respond immediately so she continues, suddenly less relaxed, kicking at the ground and fidgeting. "I know things are...complicated, I am aware of that, but I need to live one day at a time right now. And so do you, least til you're better."

He doesn't quite know how to interpret that, isn't quite sure where she thinks one day at a time will lead them. But as there don't seem to be any other viable choices, he says, "I can live with that."

"Good. Okay, I'll leave you alone to rest. Do you need anything?"

He shakes his head. "Don't think so."

She smiles again, "I'll bring up some water and your pills in a bit. Then I've got to go pick up the boys so you'll be on your own for a while. Think you can manage?"

"Yeah."

He starts to pull the covers back from the bed when he senses her lingering.

"Alec?" she says. He turns to find her behind him. She wraps her arms around his neck, holding him tight, careful to only put pressure on his good side. He wraps his arms around her waist. They're quiet for a moment, reveling in the embrace. "I'm glad you're here," she says into his ear.


	20. Chapter 20

He spends the rest of the day in bed, but by evening he is bored out of his skull so he ventures downstairs. He follows the sound of excited shouting to the living room.

"Oh, c'mon mate! You've got to be cheating! No one should be this good at this!"

"Maybe you're just terrible!"

He finds Tom playing a video game with Oliver. They have matching determined smiles on their faces, eyes glittering as they focus on the TV screen. He stands in the doorway watching them until he's noticed.

"DI Hardy!" Oliver says, and jumps out of his seat. Tom pauses the game and puts his controller down.

"What's this?" Hardy says.

"We're just playin' a game," Tom says.

"How are you feeling?" Oliver says.

"Ah, all right, thanks. Where's Ellie?"

"Oh upstairs, I think. She called this afternoon saying she was gonna come back to get the boys and I offered to drive them down. Save her the trip."

He nods, "That was kind of you, well done."

The way the young man smiles at him, he wonders if an eagerness to please is genetic.

"So what game is this?"

"It's car racing. Tom is brilliant at it. Do you like video games?"

"Not really familiar, to be honest."

"Oh you should give it a go sometime! Here, you can have my spot." Oliver holds out the controller for him. On the couch, Tom looks a bit less enthusiastic about the idea.

"Maybe later," Hardy says. "Think I'll just go and..." He tilts his head toward the door and leaves before they have a chance to respond.

He makes his way to the kitchen, where he rifles through cupboards, careful not to stretch his left arm too dramatically.

"Oh here you are," Ellie says behind him.

"Too much time in that bed. Couldn't take anymore. Where's the bread?"

"Oh it's here," she says, and heads to a pantry in the corner. "The tea's here too."

She sits on a stool and watches him as he prepares tea and toast. There's a comfortable silence. When everything is ready he sits down in a barstool next to her, and passes her a cup of tea.

"Thanks," she says.

"I see Oliver's here," he says.

"Oh yeah. Funny thing though, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Well, you know, I wasn't that much older than Tom when he was born, so it was a bit like having an annoying little brother around, always felt like more of a nuisance than anything else really. But, he's really impressed me these last weeks with the way he's stepped up. He's so good with Tom."

"He told me he drove the boys over so you wouldn't have to. Good of him."

"Right. But it is a bit weird, to learn the people you can count on the most, the ones who are the most important in your life aren't the ones you expected."

She gives him a knowing smile, her eyes soft and full. He returns the gesture. Taking her hand, he brings it to rest in his on the counter. She leans over to lay her head on his shoulder. He marvels at how well she fits there.

A throat clears behind them and they turn in tandem at the distraction. "Sorry to intrude, but I've got to be getting back," Olly says, shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"All right, I'll walk you out," Ellie says.

"No, don't get up, just wanted to let you know," he says.

"Where's Tom?" she asks.

"He's made his way upstairs."

"All right. Thanks again for everything, Olly," she says.

"Happy to help! Maybe I can come back in the next week or two."

"We'd like that," she says. Despite his protest, she gets up and goes to give the young man a hug. "Get home safe."

"I will. Night, DI Hardy!" Oliver says.

Hardy nods. "Night."

They watch him leave and then Ellie makes her way back to the stool beside him, pure amusement on her face. "You still have him call you DI Hardy!"

He shrugs, a small smirk on the edge of his lips. "I like the idea that I intimidate him."

She shakes her head. "You really are a bit sadistic, aren't you?"

He quirks his lips, waggles his eyebrows. "Aye, always thought it added to my appeal."

"That...explains a lot actually." She tries to keep a straight face but doesn't quite succeed.

He chuckles. Their eyes meet but she won't hold his gaze, shying away after a moment, focusing her attention on her tea instead of him. As she fiddles with her mug, he takes a bite of his toast.

"You should eat more than that," she says, glancing over to watch him chew.

"This is enough," he says around a mouthful.

"No, it isn't. It's nearly time for your medicine, and two pieces of bread do not a full stomach make." She reaches over him and grabs a bunch of bananas from the other side of the island, setting it in front of him. "Eat this."

"What, all of 'em?"

She grumbles. "No, not all of them. But at least one."

She swivels her stool to face him. They are so close together her knee presses into his thigh. He swivels too, tangling their legs together, invading each other's personal space. He chews slowly, deliberately, watching the way she stares at his jaw while it works.

When he swallows his last bite, she shakes her head as if coming out of a trance. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" she says. He can't help but look smug.

She remains deadpan as she picks up his wrist. "Time to check your pulse," she says. Her fingers are warm and firm against his skin. She watches a clock in the corner as the second hand makes its way to the twelve. When she counts, she does so almost out loud, reciting the numbers under her breath. He watches her as her attention shuffles from her fingers and the pulsing vein below them and the clock on the wall, glancing at his face every few seconds. He takes in the way her eyes remain unblinking and her lips form the numbers she whispers. When thirty seconds passes she stops counting but she doesn't let go of him.

"Did I pass?" he says.

"Think so. Feels right to me." She squeezes his wrist, wrapping her fingers around his palm. "How are you feeling?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but doesn't get a chance before they hear a loud, "Mummy!" from upstairs.

She breathes deep as she stands. The abrupt loss of contact with her hits him like a windstorm.

"Sorry, duty calls. Are you coming up?" she says.

"Yeah. Right behind you."


	21. Chapter 21

Why he did not anticipate Ellie's nearly belligerent attentiveness, he has no idea. Blame it on his medication. She spends most of the next two days fussing over him, with the long-suffering countenance of someone who's been dealing with a cranky patient for much longer than just a weekend. He finds it oddly comforting, the familiarity of their bickering. He's grateful for her company. Still, he may or may not go out of his way to be impertinent just to see her eyes roll. He suspects she's aware when he's playing a game, because every now and then there is a break in her straight face.

Tuesday arrives, and he hears Ellie rustling about her room at an unspeakably early hour. Not long after he hears her shout up the stairs at Tom, curse, and then use a comically ineffective stage whisper to try the boy again. Since he is awake anyway, he throws on a pair of sweatpants and joins her on the landing.

She winces when she sees him. "Sorry, I tried not to wake you. Go back to bed."

"Nah, I'm up now. Can I help?"

As if on cue, Fred begins wailing from his room. She takes in a deep breath. "Would you mind?"

"No. Which way should I go?"

"I'll get the baby. Save you from diaper duty. You're not supposed to lift him anyway. Would you go up and see that Tom's awake? Can you manage the stairs?"

"Aye." He climbs up the stairs to Tom's room, knocks on the door.

"Go away!"

"Tom? It's time to get up, you've got to go register for school today."

"I don't want to go," he calls through the door.

Hardy knocks again. "May I come in?"

He takes the silence as permission, whether it's meant that way or not. Tom is awake, sitting on top of his bed, fiddling with his smart phone. He looks up at Hardy. "I don't want to go to school yet."

"Any specific reason why not?"

Tom stares at the phone. Seeing him hunched over, curled into himself as he sits cross-legged on the bed, Hardy remembers how young the boy is.

Finally, Tom says, "What if they know who I am? What if they make fun of me?"

"They won't," he says.

Tom looks him in the eye. "How d'you know? You can't be sure."

"How would they know? We've made sure no one gave your name to reporters. The kids at your old school knew who you were because you went to school with them your whole life. At your new school, these kids don't know you from Adam. Your name is Tom Miller but other than that you can be whomever you want to be."

Tom thinks about that for a long moment. "I've never been to a new school before."

"Well, time for a new adventure, then isn't it? I went to a couple new schools when I was a boy. It's not so bad. They'll like you, I'm sure of it. You'll have a hundred friends by lunchtime."

Tom smiles at that, for a moment. "But what about this?" He points to his lip, which is still healing from his fight last week.

Hardy shrugs. "Skateboarding accident?"

The boy nods, "Yeah. Okay."

"So you'll give it a try for us, eh?"

"All right, I guess." Tom says, "I've just got to, um, pack my bag. I'll be down in a minute."

Hardy leaves Tom's room and manages the two flights of stairs to the ground floor, where he can hear Ellie and Fred laughing. When he is finished with the stairs he takes a moment to collect his breath, and takes in the sounds of a happy commotion.

"Okay, let's actually eat this bite, now shall we?" Ellie says.

Hardy steps into the kitchen and finds Fred, with what looks like pink yogurt all over his mouth and the tray of his chair. The boy is laughing hysterically, flapping his arms about, spraying the yogurt as he moves. Ellie's focus is on Fred, doesn't notice Hardy come in.

"Well this looks exciting," he says.

She turns at the sound of his voice, a giant grin and a spoonful of yogurt splayed across her face. He can't help but bark out a laugh at the sight of her.

"Good morning," she says. "Fred has decided it's a good day for the Yogurt Game. The goal is to see if he can eat more than he can throw. I know it doesn't look it, but I think he might be winning today."

It's hard to focus when she looks like this. He runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek, wiping up the dollop of pink stuff. "And how many points for this?" He shows her the yogurt on his thumb.

"Not sure, exactly..." she says, "But probably about the same as this!" She grabs his hand and pushes his thumb against his face, smearing yogurt above his lip.

He tries valiantly to keep his composure. "I see. That's worth a lot in this game, is it?"

"Mm, yeah. Hey, yogurt's a good look for you."

Next to them, Fred squeals. He has his mother's grin. "Oh you liked that, did you, Fred?" She says. She squats to look him straight on.

"Mummy turn!" Fred says, and takes a handful of his yogurt and pushes it against her mouth, laughing happily.

Her eyes go wide in surprise. Hardy feels a bubble rise through him and suddenly he is laughing so hard he can barely breathe, has to brace himself against the island from lightheadedness. Ellie wipes the yogurt off her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I guess Fred wins," she says, her eyes sparkling. Standing, she runs her fingers across Hardy's top lip, wiping the mess away. She gazes at him a moment, but when he steps closer to her, the flirtatious glint fades from her eyes and she looks away, turning back to the baby. "Okay Fred, I think we're done with yogurt for the day. Let's move on to blackberries."

As she sets a plate of berries in front of Fred, Tom comes down the stairs. "Morning, sweetheart," she says. "You're looking sharp. Are you excited for your first day of school?"

"S'pose," Tom says.

"Your appointment is in less than an hour, so let's get you fed. Toast and eggs?"

"Fine," the boy says.

As Ellie fixes breakfast, Hardy sets about making tea. While he waits for the water to boil, he sits next to Fred's chair and watches the child smash each blackberry with one forceful open palm, then fist the berry's remains into his mouth. The process is a bit loud but neither Ellie nor Tom seems to notice it. After the fourth berry is destroyed and Fred's face is covered in berry juice, Hardy intervenes. He picks up a berry and puts it in his mouth, then makes a show of chewing. He then picks up another and puts it up to Fred's mouth. Fred takes it from his fingers and chews, staring at Hardy in wonder.

"Now you try," Hardy says. He pokes at a berry.

Fred stares at him a moment longer, then does as he is told, picking up a single berry with tiny fingers and stuffing it into his mouth whole.

"See, not so difficult," Hardy says.

"Berry!" Fred laughs happily, displaying a mouthful of half chewed fruit.

"Impressive," Ellie says behind him. He turns to see her smiling at him. He shrugs. She passes him a plate of egg whites.

"What's this?"

"Breakfast." The kettle whistles and she attends to it, passing him a cup of tea as he eats.

"Wasn't necessary," he says.

"I was cooking anyway, and you need to eat." she says as she takes a bite of her own. "Listen, would you mind...I was planning on taking Fred with me to the school but since you're up and he loves you so much, apparently, do you think..."

"I'll watch him," he says.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

She sighs. "Thank you. I won't be gone more than an hour or two."

"Yeah."

When they finish eating, Hardy washes the dishes while Ellie cleans Fred. He goes upstairs to meet them in Fred's room, but they aren't there. He finds them in his own room instead. Ellie is holding Fred in one arm and a small arsenal of books and toys in the other.

"I was thinking, I don't want to keep Fred locked in his crib the entire time I'm gone, and since you're not supposed to lift him still, why don't we just keep him in here with you?"

"Fine," he says.

Hardy goes to sit in the bed, and Ellie sets Fred down next to him. She hands Hardy three children's books and a big plastic fire truck, and hands Fred some kind of brightly colored game...thing.

"He didn't sleep as long as he usually does last night so he may well pass out on you if you read to him. You sure you'll be all right?"

"It's just an hour or two isn't it?"

She nods.

"We'll be fine."

She nods again, then kisses Fred on top of the head. "You behave for Alec, little one." Shifting her attention, she says, "I'll be back soon...don't forget to take your pills."

"I got it," he says. She hovers a moment longer then turns to go, calling to Tom that they're late and have to leave.

Alone in the room, Fred stares expectantly at Hardy with those big eyes of his. "All right, so what shall we do?" Hardy asks.

Fred continues staring.

"Do you want to...read a book?"

"Yeah! Book! Book!" Fred says. He sorts through the pile of books beside them and finds one, then crawls onto Hardy's lap, pushing the colorful thing at him.

Hardy reads him the book, a story of how a puppy and a duck become best friends, despite adversity. It is, in Hardy's opinion, inane, illogical drivel, but Fred seems enthralled. "Read it again!" the boy says.

"Ehh...no. How about something else this time?" He picks through the other two books. There's one about an unlucky teddy bear and another about a lonely fish. "Why do all these books insist on anthropomorphizing their characters?"

Fred stares up at him blankly. Hardy looks around the room. "Ah, here we go." He picks up a copy of Dashiell Hammett's The Maltese Falcon off his bedside cabinet. He smiles to himself. Ellie has remembered his interest in film noir and fedoras. "Do you like detective stories, Fred?"

"Yeah! Story!" Fred cheers.

He shrugs. Probably nothing inappropriate for a nineteen month old in the first few pages. At first, Fred remains riveted, seated and leaning against Hardy's stomach, staring up at him wide-eyed. Hardy reads out loud until he notices the sound of deep, rhythmic breathing. He pats the boy in his lap and continues the reading silently.

A little while later, he hears "I'm home!" from the bottom of the stairs. Not wanting to wake Fred, he doesn't respond, so she searches them out. When she comes to the doorway she looks about to say something but she stops herself, taking in the sight of Fred sleeping in a ball on Hardy's legs.

"How long has he been like that?" she whispers as she approaches them.

"Since probably half an hour after you left."

"Oh my God," she says.

"It's all right."

"He looks so cute," she says.

He looks at the boy, then at her, and the way her face softens as she runs her fingers through her sleeping son's hair. "Just like his mother," he says.

She gives him a look like he's gone mad, raising her eyebrows. "The painkillers are making you soppy," she whispers. After a moment, she bends down and scoops the sleeping child into her arms. "I'm going to go put him down."

For lack of anything better to do, he gets out of bed and follows her to Fred's room, watches as she sets him down and strokes his hair. She seems surprised when she turns around and finds him there, motioning for him to head back out.

"So how was the school?" he says when she joins him.

"Um. It was...okay."

"What happened?"

She looks up at him, odd expression on her face, something between amusement, curiosity and annoyance. He tilts his head in an effort to prompt a response.

"Did you tell my son he should lie about where he came from?" she says.

"What? No."

"Really? Because he said you did."

"No, I told him he didn't have to let what's happened define him."

"Well, he said you said he could 'be whomever he wants to be.'"

"Right."

She gives him that incredulous look she has like she can't believe he's a breathing human. "Right...well when you say that to an eleven year old boy, he's going to think you mean 'make up something better.'"

He gapes at her for a moment. "That's not what I meant! What did he tell them?"

"He said we just moved to town to look after a dying relative, who has agreed to leave us a sizable inheritance in exchange for our care. And it's only just me and the kids because his father is away, working as a top secret agent."

"He said all that?"

"Yes!"

"What did the school say?"

"They asked me if it was true. God. I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to embarrass Tom right off the bat..."

"Oh, God..."

"I said it was an exaggeration. But I didn't say it was completely untrue. I mean, what are they gonna do? Expel him for lying? They can't do that."

"But that doesn't seem like Tom, does it?"

She shakes her head. "He's scared. Too much happened too quickly. They asked him what brought us to town, and he didn't know what to do. I should've told him to say we wanted a fresh start. Keep it simple. I don't know. I'm worried about him."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know."

"We'll keep an eye on him. Make sure he knows he's safe here. This fresh start'll be good for him," he says.

He looks her in the eye, willing her to believe him, take comfort in him. She holds his gaze. Feeling emboldened by sustained eye contact, he takes a step closer, so he is just an inch or two away from her. He puts his hands on her hips, lets them settle there. She wraps her hands around his elbows. As he leans down she comes up to meet him. Their lips touch softly, and he feels the vibration as she hums into the kiss. But after the briefest moment she breaks away, and settles a hand on his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. She smiles at him but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She looks apologetic. "Sorry, doctor's orders."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "There are quite a few steps between what we've just done and the doctor's orders."

That turns her red. "Well, better safe than sorry."

"I don't mind living dangerously," he says, pulling her against him.

She ducks her head, stares at the floor as she steps away. "No, I don't um...I've got loads to do downstairs, unpacking and arranging and I think I'll just go and um..."

She practically runs away from him, leaving him in the middle of the landing wondering what the hell has just happened.


	22. Chapter 22

His chest hurts. He'd love nothing more than to ignore it until it goes away, but it's proving quite difficult. The nurses told him it would take a few days, or weeks even, to get used to the feeling of a machine lodged just under his collarbone, beating his heart for him. It has gotten easier since he first woke up after surgery, but now, in the silence of his bedroom, the sensation is like drowning in white noise.

But the white noise is better than the awkward quiet he'd find downstairs. Something is going on with Ellie, and he doesn't know what it is. She isn't talking to him about it, which is the most alarming part, something so out of character. She'll talk to him about Tom, about the new house, but not about herself. He thinks maybe she doesn't want to let him down.

His chest hurts, because he wonders if he shouldn't just go, if this was a terrible idea. She has way too much changing in her life to be saddled with taking care of him. But his chest hurts and he can only fully use one of his arms and he can hardly manage two flights of stairs without feeling like he should sit down. He's trapped.

He runs through options in his head. He's been a detective most of his adult life, maybe he should think of her as a case to solve. He's got the evidence, knows the facts of the case, he just has to puzzle together what it is he's missing. So what does he know? He knows they've grown close. He's spent nearly every day of the last twelve weeks with her, and the last three and a half were voluntary. She kissed him in the hospital, and there have been a few other times he thought she might again. She's emotional, communicative and affectionate, with everyone, but the last few days he's noticed an almost demureness when he looked her in the eye for too long. She'll seem perfectly normal until the moment feels intimate, and then she'll push away. So maybe it's him after all. Maybe it's fear. Maybe it's regret.

His chest hurts and he hates the feeling. He hates not having answers, being unsure, and more than that, he hates letting other people affect him like this. Would almost prefer being all alone over this anxiety. He hasn't let go of the protectiveness he feels for her. The last thing he wants to do is cause her problems. He groans out loud. Things were easier when he was shutting her out and she thought of him as her nuisance of a boss and nothing else. He can feel his heartbeat quicken, the bloody metal box working a little harder to get him under control. He feels faint. It's becoming harder to breathe. He's behaving like a teenager, pining after her like this. He bangs his head against his headboard. It sends his head spinning.

And then there's a knock on his door. She lets herself in without waiting for an answer, Fred squirming on her hip. "Hi," she says. "Brought you tea."

She stops cold when she sees him. "Jesus, you look terrible!" She squints her eye, inspecting him, sets Fred down on the floor, then moves in closer, bends down to get close to his face. She runs a hand over his forehead and up through his hair, then back down his jawline until her fingers hit the pulse point at the top of his neck. He watches the horror flit over her features when she feels how fast his heart is moving. "Did you take your pills?"

"Yeah," he says, except he can barely get the word out. "You caught me at a bad time, that's all. I'm fine."

"You don't look bloody fine to me." Her voice is angry, but the deep worry lines on her face are more upsetting. He’s an ass for doubting her. "Are these 'bad times' happening a lot?"

"No...just right now...really, it's nothing." His voice is ragged and unsteady.

It's apparent from the look on her face that she doesn't believe him. "What do you need? Maybe I should call the doctor." She stands, but he grabs her hand.

He takes in a deep drag of air, and then another, and another, steeling himself for her. "Don't need a doctor," he breathes. He looks at her, hard, willing her to read his mind, to understand his need to be self-sufficient.

Holding her eyes and seeing her face already works to calm him. The resolve of her expression fades. She takes another step forward and puts her fingers back on his pulse. He knows it's already slowing and she must feel it.

"Okay, okay," she says. She's still watching him. Her eyes travel downward as she surveys the too-heavy rise and fall of his chest. From his spot in the middle of the floor, Fred is watching him too. "I won't call the doctor. But tell me what I can do."

He shakes his head. She puts her hand in his hair again, massaging her fingers against his scalp. The sensation works better than any pills. "Tell me," she says.

He starts to speak but his mouth has gone dry. He tries again. "Could you...stay? Would you stay here, with me?"

It takes her a split second to register the request. Her eyes glisten. She gives a single nod, and sits on the edge of his bed, facing him, her hip bumping his, her fingers still working magic against his skin.

They stay like that a long time, his heart rate normalizing more every moment.


	23. Chapter 23

At the hospital, the staff warned him that sleeping might become more difficult. Nothing he isn't used to, but they were right. On Wednesday, his fifth night in the house, he is awake and restless. So when he notices a light coming from somewhere beyond his bedroom door, he gets up to investigate.

He follows the light and discovers its source in the living room. Ellie is there sitting on the floor among a mess of half emptied boxes. She is crying.

She only notices him when he knocks once on the doorframe and asks if she's all right. She fists at her puffy eyes, nodding furiously. "Yeah, yeah. What are you doing up? Go back to bed."

He ignores her. "What's going on?" he says.

Her face crumbles further, every crevice trembling. She's sitting on her knees, wearing a simple nightshirt, her hair falling all over her face. She looks incredibly vulnerable. He takes two steps closer.

"Every single thing I own reminds me of Joe."

He clenches his jaw, hovering awkwardly, not sure what to say. She looks up at him, holding his gaze longer than she's been willing to do for days.

"All of it...I feel like he's haunting me. I can't escape it. I want to move on, move past this, but I haven't. Coming here, leaving Broadchurch, I thought maybe it'd be enough. Maybe I'd just erase him completely. I'm an idiot." She flips through a glossy book about cycling and tosses it away. They watch as it slides across the carpet. "His sentencing was today."

His eyebrows shoot up reflexively. "What? Today?"

She nods, lips quivering. "Life. Parole in thirty years. So that's it then."

He nods. He thought it might be a harsh sentence and it is. He wonders fleetingly why no one mentioned this to him, but pushes the thought away for later. He can tell there's more that's bothering her. "You didn't go?" he asks.

More tears fall. She gulps hard, a lame attempt to tamp down her emotions. "I couldn't. I just...couldn't do it. Couldn't face Beth. I knew she'd be there. And I don't even want to think about Joe, I certainly couldn't stand the thought of _seeing_ him. Even for this. Does that make me awful?"

She gives him that look, eyes and mouth all open, ready and willing to catch any answers he possibly has to throw. A look skilled at breaking him. His eyes burn. He shakes his head. "No."

She's still sitting on her knees, head down, hands wringing in her lap, almost as if in prayer.

"I hate him. I hate him so much," she says. She looks at him again with those eyes of hers, impossibly large. "Never hated anyone, my whole life, I've never hated anyone before."

It's a moment he will always remember. The curve of her body, the gentleness of her voice, the pure emotion in her features. In this moment, he understands with perfect clarity the person she is and exactly how he feels about her.

He goes to her, pushes aside a pile of old DVDs so he can face her. He sits close enough to touch her legs with his, and reaches out a hand to rub her arm. She watches him.

He takes in a deep breath for support. "It'll fade," he says.

"What?"

"The hate. It will go away."

She scoffs. "Find that hard to believe."

"Well, maybe not completely, but enough that you won't think about it every day."

She blinks at him, eyes searching. Her voice is soft, unsure. It's unnerving. "How do you know?"

He shrugs. "Experience."

Her face breaks, for just an instant, lips twitching downward, eyes brimming. She is defined by her empathy. "Tell me?" she says.

So he tells her. For the first time, he shares out loud every gruesome detail of his wife's betrayal. From discovering her affair with a mutual friend and colleague to watching a serial killer walk free to losing his daughter in a vicious custody battle. Talks about the hell he went through with the victims' families, having to explain failure with half-truths and lies. He tells Ellie the things he never thought he'd tell anyone, about the things his wife said to him, listing his many personal shortcomings as her own excuses for infidelity, and about the callous way she went along with his decision to take the fall, blaming him so whole-heartedly both publicly and privately, until it became obvious she'd thought it was his fault all along. When he finishes his vision is blurry and his throat is raw.

She rises to a kneeling position and leans forward toward him, wraps one arm around his back and one behind his head, pulling him into her, carefully avoiding his wound, cradling him. She holds him, tight and still, for ages.

He clutches at her nightshirt and listens to her breathe. She's still holding him when she finally speaks, her low voice a salve against the skin of his neck. "I can't stop thinking about Susan Wright," she says.

He draws his fingertips in a soothing pattern over the space of her back and waits for her to continue.

"Thinking about all the things she said. Her life was ruined by what her husband did. Completely ruined. But what I keep thinking about...she said what if her son was the same as his father. And she said...said death...said once death has its 'claws in you' that it follows you. I keep thinking about those things, and I'm fucking terrified. For Tom and Fred...for me...for you." They're clinging onto each other so tight, he can feel her muscles constrict as she swallows. "I don't think I'd be strong enough to handle it if anything else happened."

He breaks apart from her, leaning away to see her face, but not fully letting her go. He feels lightheaded. "You're nothing like Susan Wright. This isn't like that. Her husband was a bad man. Joe made some terrible, unforgivable, mistakes, but he's not evil. And for every part of those boys that's Joe, they have an equal part that's you. You'll be the one to raise them, love them. They'll be just fine. So will you. And so will I. You've got to stop worrying about me. I'm not going to die anytime soon. I refuse. Surely you've noticed I can be stubborn when I want to be."

A smile cracks through. "Hadn't noticed." She looks away from him, picks at his shirt. "It's not that simple, though."

"Which part?"

"I can't just stop because you say so. I can't just shut it off. A million things could go wrong. What if you're not right? What if I'm damaged forever? What if Tom keeps getting into fights at school? What if you get yourself too worked up over something and have another heart attack?"

He runs his hands down the length of her back and settles them on her waist. "You can't live your life like that. You're going around in circles. I'm certain things will get better, and I'm more certain they'll get better faster if you stop obsessing. You can't predict the future. You can do your best to protect the people you love but that's it. If you try to do more than that, it won't work. If Tom gets in fights, or has trouble coping, we'll deal with it. You should talk to him...about all of this. It'd help you both." She nods, taking his words in. He shuffles closer to her, tightens his grip.

"As for me, I'll follow the instructions from the doctor. But the whole bloody _point_ of getting this thing put in me was so I could get on with my life. And the only thing getting me worked up right now is you tiptoeing around me when all I want to do is this—"

He kisses her. Wraps his arms around her until he engulfs her. She's a bit slow to react, and he mostly expects her to push him away, kick him out completely, but after a moment, hands land on his jaw. Her lips are pliable, moving to a rhythm with his. He catalogs the feeling of them in his mind. He's an explorer, charting new territory.

She breaks away sooner than he'd like, but there's less tragedy in her eyes. "You make a compelling argument," she says.

"That was just point one. Didn't even let me get to points two or three."

She chuckles, not quite a full sound, but something. She opens her mouth to speak but no words come out. Instead she ducks her head.

"You're not ready," he says. It's not quite a question and not quite a proclamation.

She gives him a grateful look, thankful she doesn't have to be the one to say it. She runs her hands along his arms, anchoring herself at his shoulders. He tightens his grip on her.

"I will be, eventually. I want to be. I really, really want to be," she says.

"I know," he says. And he does.


	24. Chapter 24

The next morning he stays in his room, trying to give her space. After their talk last night he thinks it'll be better if he keeps his distance. If she's not ready, she doesn't need him crowding her, putting on undue pressure, unintentional though it may be. But when she knocks on his door to check on him, there's none of the tension that was brewing over the previous days. She smiles brightly in greeting. "Morning, how're you feeling?"

"Never better," he says. It sounds less friendly than he intends.

"Well, you _look_ better at any rate."

"Eh," he shrugs. "...So do you."

She smiles again. "It's a new day," she says. She hovers awkwardly. It's obvious that she has more to say but she remains quiet.

"Something on your mind?" he asks.

She jerks her head in surprise. "No—not really...What are you going to do today?"

Waving his arms around the sparse bedroom, he deadpans, "Dunno. Options are limitless."

She gives him a look. "You could always come downstairs. Hang out with Fred and me. We've planned a busy day of playing with trucks and watching telly."

She waits for his answer, looking almost hopeful, which makes him think maybe space wasn't what she needed after all. "All right," he says. "Give me a minute to get dressed."

He finds her downstairs, sitting on the living room floor, the same place he found her just hours earlier. Only this time, the boxes have been pushed into corners and she's sitting with Fred amongst a heap of toddler toys. She's hunched over to look the boy straight in the eye as he happily explains to her the mechanics of some toy, using broken sentences and not an insignificant amount of gibberish. But Ellie seems to be following along with the story, responding animatedly when appropriate. He sits on the couch and continues watching them. Fred shifts his attention so he can include both adults in the storytelling, but it doesn't take long for him to tire of the explanations and move on to playing with the toy in question quietly.

When Fred looks away, Ellie turns her attention. "Hi," she says to Hardy. "Got you something."

She hands him an iPad. "It was Joe's...but now I guess it can be everybody's. I took it to a computer shop on my way home from dropping Tom, so it's wiped now and we don't have to see what was on it. Basically good as new! And I thought you might want to use it, if you need to keep occupied."

He takes the tablet without taking his eyes off her. "Thank you," he says.

She reaches over and squeezes his hand. "I know you're going a bit mental being all cooped up like this."

He shrugs, "Honestly? I expected worse."

She tilts her head at that, but after a moment seems to take the compliment as intended.

Later, in the afternoon, they take a walk around the neighborhood. He handles Fred in the pushchair and Ellie loops her arm through his. The blend of fresh air on his skin and her casual touch feels restorative. Aside from the lapse earlier in the week, recovery seems to be going well. Optimism is not a feeling he's used to.

They're quiet while they walk, content to be in each other's presence. Occasionally she will point out something she likes about a house or garden. It's not his first time out of the house, but it is the first time he's paid attention to their surroundings. As with the house, this neighborhood is vastly different from Broadchurch. It's newer, for one thing. And with newness comes a lack of history. These houses are full of families living their current lives, and maybe they know their neighbors, but they have no real knowledge of each other's demons. Not like in Broadchurch, where people have known each other since before they were born, histories dating back generations. This neighborhood, with its pristine gardens and shuttered houses, offers a clean slate to those who need it.

He looks at her. She's lost in thought, a peaceful calm on her features. She senses his eyes on her and turns her face to meet him, giving him a content smile and pressing herself closer into him as they make their way home.

The mood of the afternoon takes a turn once she's put Fred down to sleep. She gets progressively more jumpy. "You afraid to be alone with me?" He asks eventually. She's sitting next to him on the sofa, bouncing her knee.

"What? No," she says. She looks around the room awkwardly, taking a long look at the clock in the process. There's something she's not saying. Picking up the iPad, she says, "Here, do you know how to use this?"

"No. Haven't used one before."

"Well, let's figure it out then, shall we?"

The longer she pokes and prods at the device, the more suspicious he is that she's stalling. Eventually the tablet makes a buzzing sound, making her jump. She turns to him, looking panicked. "Okay, please don't be angry," she says.

Oh god, what now. She hands him the iPad and there on the screen is his daughter's face looking back at him. Confusion, anxiety and unfamiliarity mean he fumbles with the sodding thing trying to figure out how to accept her ring.

Ellie leans over him and handles it. A swipe and a tap and there she is.

"Hi Dad," the girl says.

"Charlotte? Hi Darling. How're you doing?" he says. He can feel himself getting choked up already.

Beside him Ellie squeezes his knee and gets up. Instinctively, his eyes follow her as she leaves. She gives him an encouraging smile and nods at the screen.

Charlotte must notice he's been distracted. "Is that Ellie?" she says. "Tell her I said hi."

"So you've talked to her, then?" Suddenly the iPad and the increasing nerves make perfect sense.

Charlotte smiles. "Yeah. I rang you last week. Ellie answered and said you weren't allowed to have a phone around you yet. We decided to surprise you with a video chat once you were up to it. Then she rang me this morning and said today was a good day for it, and I didn't have anything after school so I said okay. Surprise!"

He smiles. He wants to kiss the screen but he resists, knowing she'd think it was embarrassing.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"Good, all things considered."

"Ellie said you had heart surgery! Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugs. "You've got enough happening. I didn't want to worry you."

"Dad! Heart surgery! That's pretty big. Probably something you should always tell me."

"Fine. Next time I have a major operation, you'll be the first to know," he says.

She rolls her eyes, but her expression softens quickly. "Look, Dad. I...read that story about you. The one that said it wasn't your fault, with the murders and everything. And..." She swallows, hard. "I'm sorry I've been so awful to you."

"You don't need to apologize to me." He means it. The look in her eyes right now is more important than any spoken words, and at any rate he never blamed her for any bitterness toward him.

"Sorry," she says again.

There's an awkward pause. He's not sure what he can say. He gathers she doesn't know why he covered up the real story. Otherwise she'd have said so. "How's your mum?" he says.

She gives the sort of put upon look that is exclusive to girls her age. "The same as always," she says. "She works all the time."

"But everything's going all right?"

"Yeah, fine," she says. Another awkward pause. "So...Ellie is great!"

He nods. "She is."

Her face lights up. "So you're, you know...together?"

"Ehh...we're...complicated."

She looks surprised. "Doesn't seem that complicated to me."

"Well it is," he says.

She rolls her eyes, again. "You totally like each other. It's so obvious from the look on your face, and she has to feel the same way or she wouldn't have done all this for you. I mean, aren't you living together?"

"Yeah, but, it's not as simple as all that. We're...she's—"

She interrupts him. "Oh Dad, you always make things so much more difficult than they need to be."

"I don't want to talk about it," he says. "I want to hear more about you. Tell me what's happening with you."

She sighs dramatically. "Well..."

They talk for an hour. Her piano playing is going really well, she has a recital coming up. She promises to try to get someone to record it for him. Or maybe he can come see it. School is good. Friends are good. In general, she is a happy, busy, fifteen year old. He couldn't be prouder. A few times she stops to raise an eyebrow at him and he knows he must look a bit mad, the way he is grinning. He just can't get over how perfect she is. When he says as much she threatens to hang up.

They disconnect with promises to talk once a week, improve efforts to visit in person, and a solemn swear that he will let her know if anything serious happens to him again.

She ends the conversation by saying 'I love you.' He stares at the tablet even after the screen goes black. Coming out of his daze, he turns it over in his hands before setting it on the coffee table and seeking out his benefactor.

Conveniently she's lurking in the hallway so he doesn't have to search far. She turns to him when the door opens, an eager look on her face. Before she has a chance to speak he grabs her by the arms and pulls her into him, kissing her squarely.

"You're fantastic," he tells her.

She gives him a startled smile. "It went well, I take it?"

"It was exceptional. Like you. Thank you."

"Charlotte seems like a lovely girl. I can't wait to meet her."

"She is. Don't know where she got it. She said the same thing about you, by the way."

She hugs him tight. "I'm glad," she says into his ear.

Behind them he hears something clicking, but it doesn't fully register until they hear, "Hi, I'm home."

Ellie more or less shoves herself off of him. "Hi Tom, Sweetheart. How was school?"

"All right," Tom says. He glances at them and makes his way up the stairs with his head down.

Ellie sighs. Hardy runs a hand over her back. "I think it might be my turn," Ellie says.

"I'll wait down here," he says. As he watches her climb the stairs, he thinks of his daughter, of Ellie and her kids. He finds his level of contentedness alarming. He supposes he can learn to live with it.


	25. Chapter 25

It's the weekend. A week's gone by and he's survived. When he enters the kitchen early on Saturday morning, he finds Ellie and Tom huddled close together at the kitchen table. Fred waves at him from his high chair. He ruffles the younger boy's hair.

"Hello!" Fred says.

Ellie and Tom turn at the sound. "Oh, brilliant," she says. "You're just in time."

"In time for what?"

"We're painting today. Tom was just helping me pick out the colors." He joins them at the table, where the entire spectrum of the color wheel is laid out in paint samples.

"Painting?" he says.

"Yeah. These clean white walls aren't very 'us,' are they? Time to liven them up!" She elbows Tom, who gives a half-smile.

"Okay," Hardy says.

"What's your favorite color?" she asks him.

"My favorite..." It takes him a moment to realize what she's asking. "Blue," he says.

"Oh good. Tom's too. So, blue living room it is." She and Tom smile at each other. "I'm leaning towards more of a teal for the kitchen, what do you think?"

"What's teal?" he says.

She raises two incredulous eyebrows at him. "Maybe we'll just leave you in charge of Fred."

"It's this," Tom says, holding out a sample of bluish-green.

Standing up, Ellie begins directing. "Right, well, we've got a long day ahead, so let's get to it. Tom, you need to go get dressed. Alec, you need to eat. Fred? What do you need?"

"Put me down, Mummy!" Fred says, squirming in his chair.

She lifts Fred out and they watch as he waddles swiftly toward the kitchen door. "I'll catch him," Tom says.

Ellie turns to Hardy. "I'm going to go get him settled. Do you want to stay here with him? Or we can all go."

"No. You and Tom go on, the two of you. Fred and I'll stay here."

She nods. She hasn't said much about the talk she had with Tom, and he doesn't want to pry. All he knows is it must have gone well, because Tom has been spending time outside of his bedroom voluntarily.

Before they leave, they settle Fred in front of some cartoons. While they're gone, Hardy does as much as he can to get the living room ready for painting, though it proves difficult since he can't lift more than ten pounds at a time. He manages to sort of kick and drag boxes out into the hall.

When they get home, Ellie scolds him for exerting himself too much, but follows up with a half-hearted thank you for clearing the room. She takes command of the situation, assigning everyone specific duties for the day.

Tom is excited to work on the ladder, so he gets the top half of the walls. Ellie is skeptical about anyone else's combination of attention to detail and patience, so she will handle the trims and corners. Because it involves the least amount of stretching, Hardy is tasked with using the paint roller on the bottom half of the walls, and also handling Fred, who has been given his own Fred-sized paintbrush. Better to let him feel included than have him go rogue, Ellie explains.

Personally, Hardy thinks there might be too many people involved in the project. He's about to say so out loud, but he rethinks it when he sees the look she gives him.

The painting goes smoothly...sort of. Everyone has little blue marks on their trouser legs where Fred stood too close to them with his brush. Tom is a bit overzealous with the paint roller, so there are intermittent blue stripes along the edge of the ceiling. Ellie steps backwards into the paint tray and spills the wet blue stuff everywhere. It could have been contained by the sheet and newspaper she put under it, were it not for the toddler in the room, who manages to step in the puddle. He tracks several tiny blue footprints across the carpet before Hardy can catch and lift him. But grabbing a child weighing two stone causes his body an alarming amount of stress, and he and Fred are both banned from helping after that.

By the evening, the painting is finished. The second coat is drying. He puts himself in charge of having takeaway delivered while Ellie cleans up the mess from the paint. When she's done, she finds him in the kitchen and he can't help a smirk. She is covered in blue paint. There's a war stripe under her eye, a dab across her chin, several marks on her shirt and bare arms. One foot and ankle are dyed from when she stepped in the tin. All ten of her fingers are covered completely.

"Rough day?" he says.

She tilts her head. "No. I had a lot of fun, actually. In the old house we were constantly putting off everything. Nice to be accomplishing something for once."

"Good," he says.

After dinner, she hugs Tom tight, thanking him for being so helpful all day and excusing him to his room and video games. Hardy follows her back to the living room and keeps her company while she arranges things and finishes the last bit of unpacking. He catches a few wistful moments when she picks up something or other, frowning as she tosses it into a box marked "donate," but she never breaks.

In the morning he finds everyone in the living room again. Fred has spread his toys everywhere, and is playing with them happily. Ellie is sitting with Tom on the couch, an arm around him, as they watch the younger one. When she notices him hovering in the doorway she motions him over, and he joins them, taking in the view. The room is completely unpacked, boxes nowhere to be seen. Familiar elements of the family cover the shelves. Morning sunlight is streaming in through large windows, illuminating everything. The new paint glistens. The blue color is crisp and fresh. It's a vibrant transformation. Tom laughs at something Fred does, which makes Ellie laugh as well. She hugs her son tighter to her with one arm, and rests her other hand on Hardy's leg. The gesture is so natural, like her hand belongs there. In fact, looking around the room, he's sure everything is where it's supposed to be.

As he surveys his surroundings, his eyes are drawn inevitably to Ellie. Bathed in the morning light, her face is soft, her eyes sparkling. The hard lines and dark shadows of the past few months are fading. She's healing.


	26. Chapter 26

He doesn't even realize how ready he is to get back to normal life—whatever that is at this point—until his follow-up appointment comes, and the doctor tells him he needs another two weeks of "taking it easy." Ellie must sense his frustration over this prolonged sentence, because she spends the next several days trying to come up with sedentary activities. But really, he can only watch so many movies and TV programmes. Especially because she mostly chooses mysteries, and usually one or both of them figures out who the killer is within the first twenty minutes, so they lose interest quickly. Tom invites him to play video games, but after the boy beats him fifteen times in a row, Ellie cuts off gaming as an activity for fear he'll have a coronary. He tries to get used to the iPad, reading the news and playing games, but eventually the bright light and small text give him a headache.

Their daily walks are nice. He feels best when he's on his feet. Plus he likes the sense of partnership, strolling around, exploring new areas of the neighborhood with Ellie and Fred. Other than that, he alternates between reading alone in his room and the slightly humiliating activity of following Ellie around like a needy shadow.

On Thursday afternoon, she knocks on his bedroom door. "Hi, what are you doing?"

He holds up a paperback. "Living the dream."

"I've just put Fred down for his nap and I brought you something." She holds up a newspaper. Coming up to the bed, she says, "Move over."

"What?" He looks at her like she's mad, until he realizes he has no reason to resist. She simulates an ushering motion and he shifts to make room for her.

She climbs onto the bed and plops down next to him, settling against the headboard. She hands the paper to him. "Crossword!" she says. "I thought we could do it. All detectives like crosswords, don't they? 'Specially ones with pretentious A-level vocabularies such as yourself."

"Brilliant, yes."

"Good," she says. She's just finished fishing a pen out of her jeans when the sound of Fred crying interrupts them. She groans. "Okay you get started. I'll be right back. We hope."

He watches her leave, then eyes the puzzle, more than a little grateful for something interesting to do. The first row is easy. Embarrassingly so, really. In another life he would pass uneventful mornings at work with the _Times_ Crossword. He loved the challenge. He scans through the list of clues, filling in the answers he sees automatically. Then he goes back to chronological order. In no time at all, he's to a point where he can fill in missing letters here and there.

Ellie comes back in with a dramatic sigh. "Crisis averted," she says, settling in next to him. She leans against him to look at the puzzle. "What—bloody hell, you've done the whole thing!"

"Yep," he smiles proudly, straightening his shoulders. "New speed record, I think."

"Wha—we were meant to share it!"

Shoulders go back to sagging. "Share it? How do you share a crossword?"

"You take a turn then I take a turn. Pass it back and forth when you've got one. Or actually fill it in together. I don't know...just _share_ it!"

"That's bollocks. If you want to make it a two person thing you should buy two and see who can finish it first."

"You're really not good with the concept of togetherness are you?"

He shakes the puzzle at her for emphasis. "Look, you hand this paper to me, and nowhere on here does it say anything about being a crossword built for two! Puzzles are a solo activity. Written for one! All week you've been on this desperate hunt to find something to keep me—"

He can't finish the thought. Well, the _thought_ is no problem, but he can't speak, because suddenly she is on him, mouth first. Lips tackling his as her hands find holds on his neck and in his hair. She's gripping him like a vice, gluing herself to him, siphoning his air.

When the shock wears off he responds heartily, his arms wrapping around her, his hands clutching anything they can find. He presses into her, pinning her against the headboard. She's pulling and tugging at him, as if they could possibly get any closer. Her mouth is determined, unrelenting against his. He is just as enthusiastic. She overwhelms his senses. He could stay here forever.

When they finally break apart, the room is spinning. He wills it to stop, just so he can see her. Her chest is heaving. She stares at him, lips parted, eyes dancing. Her fingers feel like spark plugs against his skin.

"What'd you do that for?" he asks, wide-eyed and breathless.

"You're so obtuse," she says, like it's a reason. Her brow furrows for a moment, but then a slow cheeky grin sneaks up, takes over her entire face. "I guess I just thought…if I want to kiss you this much even when you're being completely impossible, then I better just go ahead and get on with it."

"Good thinking," he says. His heart is pounding in the best of ways. He pulls at her waist to bring her closer.

She flashes him a smug smile, eyes full of mischief. "Yeah, and now I've finally found a way to shut you up properly."

"Well long as this is the alternative, I'm happy to never speak again."

She laughs at that. A full sound he's hasn't heard before. This is an Ellie he's scarcely known. Confident, beautiful, happy. Worry completely wiped from her face. He's smiling when she pulls him back to her.


	27. Chapter 27

Sometimes, things come full circle. Starting on the day with the crossword puzzle, after the kids are asleep in bed, she comes to find him in his room, just like she did during those nights when he was at the Traders.

Granted, this time things are a bit different. Those nights at the Traders were devoted almost entirely to talking. Now they do most of their talking during the day. Not like nights are able to get too hot and heavy, his recovering body isn't quite ready for all that. But she seems to crave the security of touching him, sleeping next to him, just being there with him. He's grateful for it.

Most nights, she curls herself around him, with her head on his good shoulder, hand on his stomach, legs braided around his. He's consistently amazed that she can be so aware of what he needs, not putting too much pressure or weight on him, even when she's sleeping. She always drifts off before he does, and in the quiet he twists his fingers through her hair and listens to her breathing.

On one night like this, he wakes early, and his body feels empty. It's alarming how much he can miss a person in just a few semi-conscious seconds. He rolls over and reaches for her, but finds an empty mattress where her body should be.

He discovers her downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table. The dimmed overhead lamp and electronic light from a laptop screen mix with the newly teal kitchen walls to cast an eerie glow over her.

"What are you doing?" he asks as he approaches.

She jumps, puts a hand on her chest, rolls her eyes at being startled. "Go back to bed," she says.

"You too," he says.

She shakes her head. "I have loads to do. Haven't been getting any of it done, no thanks to you," she says, smirking at him.

"And so you pick half two in the morning to be productive?" He comes up next to her to look at the pile of papers on the table. It's an assortment of professional documents. "What exactly are you doing?"

She sighs. "I need to find a solicitor."

"Solicitor? You're not...are you worried..."

She cuts off his paranoia, gives him a look to let him know the answer is obvious. "For the divorce."

Oh, right. That. If his lips quirk into a small, satisfied smile, it is completely involuntary.

"It should be done already, but I just haven't got to it," she says.

"Well, it won't be too complicated. Not as if he can fight you for custody."

The look she gives him is, honestly, terrifying.

"Sorry," he says.

She sighs again. "Do you know it's been a month since he confessed? A month and three days."

"Has it?"

"Feels like longer, but it feels like it just happened at the same time..." she says, staring off at the distance.

"Well, it was an eventful month."

She shifts her eyes at that, gazes at him, her face softening. "How're you feeling?"

"Oh wow. You almost made it a full 12 hours without asking."

She doesn't blink, waiting for an answer.

"I'm fine. Wasn't dizzy once today."

She reaches out and takes his hand. "Good."

Keeping hold of her hand and her gaze, he sits down in the chair next to her. She gives him a tired smile and squeezes his hand. He studies her face. She looks...relieved. After a long moment she moves her eyes and fingers back to the laptop. He shifts to the table and looks at the pile of papers again. "What's all this then?"

She huffs, shuffling through the stack. "That's from the realtor."

"Realtor?" His eyes go wide. He supposes he really shouldn't be surprised and yet, he is.

"Yeah, everything I need to do to get the house ready for selling."

He looks down. There's an inspection report, movers' quotes and some financial papers, among other things.

"So you're selling it?"

"Yeah. No reason to hang on. Can't afford to, frankly," she frowns at whatever she's looking at on the screen.

"But this house...you're staying here, then?"

She leans back, looks around the bright, swanky kitchen, somehow still shining through the dim light. "Yeah, I think. It's growing on me. What about you?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, it's fine. But...well, I thought you might change your mind and go back there."

She jerks head back, brow furrowing, mouth frowning in dismay. "What, to that house? No. Never."

He shifts his chair to face her. "Well, maybe not that house, but Broadchurch anyway."

Her face falls, and for one tiny moment she looks like she is really in mourning, looks as lost as she did that first night, a month ago. He rubs his hand along her leg for comfort.

"I've thought so too, a few times," she says. "But this place feels like home to me now, or close enough. Inside the house, anyway. And the boys seem to like it. Tom likes his school. We can be happy here I think."

He nods. "We will be."

An odd look he can't quite place washes over her face. She stares at him a long moment, but then shakes her head, coming out of it. "Just need to find a job," she says, glancing back at the computer screen. He follows her eyes. She's using some kind of career finder website.

He shifts in his chair, hunches over, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, ready for what could be a lengthy discussion. "Surely, the police department around here would be willing to hire an experienced DS. I'd be willing give you a reference." he says. He waggles his eyebrows at her.

She ignores his playful tone. "I don't want to do that."

"Seriously. It's not inappropriate. You worked hard as my DS. You deserve it."

She shakes her head adamantly. "No. I mean I don't want to be a DS. I don't want to be police."

Former Detectives Club or not, he'd been assuming, genuinely, that when she decided to go back to work, it'd be back to the police, even if it she transferred to a different station. "But you're good at it," he says.

She gives him a small smile, her kind eyes shining. "Maybe," she agrees. "But it isn't good for me. I like being a detective, I like investigating, but I won't do another murder. No more violence. No more sadness. I was thinking maybe something in customs. Or, dunno a bank or something..." She sighs, "I suppose I could talk to the local stations...just see what they have to say, maybe. Or...well, I don't know." She's lost in thought, and he knows not to push her. Not right now, anyway. She looks at him again. "What about you?" she says.

"Me?" he asks. "Don't know yet. Haven't really thought about it."

She nods at that, seems to accept that he's not quite ready to move on, professionally.

Sitting up straight again, he says, "But this can all wait. There's no reason to find all the answers right this minute. We'll figure it out."

Barely audible, mostly under her breath she says, "We…"

"Sorry what?" He leans in to hear her better.

She glances at him. Her eyes are soft. "Every time I talk about any kind of problem…Tom, the house, the job...you say 'we' will figure it out."

"Yeah…I told you a long time ago you weren't alone. I'm here. I want to help."

She tilts her head. "No, I know, it's just, well…"

"Well, what?" He shifts nervously in his seat, unsure where this is going.

She looks him in the eye, playful smirk on her lips. "Well, who'd have thought, the most curmudgeonly man in the whole of Britain is actually a big softy."

He raises an eyebrow, points his finger at her, gets in her space. "You tell anyone, I'll have you arrested."

Her face remains perfectly straight. "No one would believe me."

He leans forward, pushing aside the laptop so he can kiss her. It's long and languid and full of promises. When they break, he tugs at her hand, pulling her up from the table. "Come on, let's go back upstairs," he says.

She holds onto his hand, and folds herself around their joined arms, pressing her body close to him. She kisses his shoulder and lets him lead her back to bed. They've survived this much. Any problems left to face can wait until the morning.


	28. Epilogue Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue, pt. 1

It's amazing how quickly a year can pass, even when you're still technically living one day at a time. He officially moved out of Ellie's spare bedroom six weeks after his surgery. Didn't go far though, just to the other side of the wall. They needed a guest room for Charlotte's visit at Christmas. Briefly he thought maybe he should find his own flat, for the sake of propriety, but then he never bothered and she never mentioned it. From the first time they slept in the same bed they've never spent a night apart. Why pretend? So they switched from his bed to hers and moved an extra chest of drawers into the room for him.

For as quickly as they came together, were thrown together really, things have settled into something slow and comfortable. He integrated into family life without really even trying to, gradually adopting tasks in the daily routine, like getting the boys ready in the mornings, doing the dishes and taking Tom to rugby on Saturdays. Pieces of him turn up all around the house. Whiskers in the bathroom sink, sections of the newspaper in every room, a necktie abandoned on the coffee table. His favorite paperback turns into Fred's favorite art journal, and Ellie adopts his favorite t-shirt as her own. There's a photo of Ellie and him next to their bed, and another displays prominently in the living room, next to Charlotte's latest school photo.

Their partnered existence feels so natural now it's difficult to remember how his life felt without her. Those first couple of weeks when she hated him are barely even a memory at this point. They still bicker, of course. It's who they are. But even if an argument ends in insults or a slamming door, it never ends in hard feelings or grudges. And, happily, making up involves a lot more than a cuppa these days.

He feels at ease around her, and he knows he has the same effect on her. Every week she seems a little bit happier, relaxing back into the person she used to be, or maybe evolving into a version of herself who is better than ever. There's none of the melancholy that plagued her in the beginning. She's affectionate and inclusive and she brings out the best in him. Her spirit infects him. What surprises him the most is how completely they trust each other. It is quite the miracle after everything they've each been through. But this utter faith, mutually shared with another living person fills him with a confident optimism that feels equal parts foreign and right.

The first time he said, "I love you," it was more of a shout actually, when after an entire day of searching she found his reading glasses in the crease of the couch. She said it back to him in a rush a couple weeks later when he prevented Fred's juice from spilling and staining the bedroom carpet. Now they say it freely.

Eventually, he'll marry her. Assuming she says yes. He'd like to adopt the boys too, if they'd let him. He already feels like they've adopted him. It's too soon to ask now, obviously. He can see her face in his mind's eye were he to propose tomorrow. Eyebrows raised, eyes wide, jaw dropped slightly. A look that would ask him, "Are you mental?" So he'll wait, as patiently as he can manage. Not like a wedding would change much of anything day to day, though he likes the idea of their rings clinking together as he holds her hand while they sleep. When he has thoughts like this, which he does far more often that he cares to admit, he wonders if he actually _is_ mental. The realization that he's so keen on getting married again is disturbing, to say the least. It's just that he's willing to do whatever it takes to make this particular relationship permanent.

He thinks, from time to time, about the last words his mother ever said to him. _God will put you in the right place, even if you don't know it at the time._ He still isn't sure what she thought that meant, but over time he's come to understand the place didn't need to be physical. For a short while, he thought his place was Broadchurch, but now he realizes it's simply with Ellie. He really doesn't care about where exactly he is. Likewise, he was sure her place was Broadchurch, and that she'd be too homesick to stay away more than a few months or so. But more and more they've gotten to know their new community, not to mention each other, and now he thinks she'd agree with him that home isn't always tied to geography.

Still, when summer rolls around, she starts getting restless. In the nine months that they've lived here, they haven't gone anywhere else, save for meetings and appointments. But there are too many obstacles for taking a proper holiday this year: they're trying to find the right nursery school for Fred. Charlotte is with them for the summer, which would make travel more expensive. And, frankly, they're more than a little aware of what happened after the last time the family went on holiday. But still, she says, it would be nice to get out of town, just for a couple of days. So, they brainstorm.

It's Tom who comes up with the solution. Ellie is so pleased at the boy's active participation in a discussion that she can't bring herself to turn him down. So, they're going to go camping. On a beach. In Broadchurch.


	29. Epilogue Part 2

Epilogue, Part 2.

It turns out Tom's interest in coming back to Broadchurch was centered almost entirely on visiting the arcade. Ellie is trying hard not to show her annoyance, but Hardy can feel tension radiating from her shoulders. The trip was supposed to include the beach, the cliffs and the family. Not the town, with its potential for catastrophe. But Tom looks so eager, she agrees to the arcade for one afternoon.

When they walk in, Ellie takes an audible breath. Summer weekends are the busiest time of year for this kind of place. Tom runs off immediately to claim his favorite game and Charlotte wanders after him. Fred tries to follow them, but Hardy nabs him before he can get lost. Amidst the boy's protests, Ellie heads in the direction of the younger children's area.

Charlotte finds them again soon after, looking miserable and utterly out of place. She only stops frowning when she notices Hardy watching her. But even she looks more comfortable than Ellie, standing guard, eyes constantly scanning the room, on the lookout for people she doesn't want to talk to. After an hour, Hardy rolls his eyes at both of them and sends them to the beach. Ellie hesitates until he assures her he doesn't mind. She kisses him quickly and says they'll be just outside. She loops her arm through Charlotte's and the two make their way out, smiling together over the sudden reprieve.

Between the people, the lights and the exciting noises, the arcade proves a bit over stimulating for Fred, who cannot pay attention to one thing for more than five minutes. He tries to run off multiple times, each time with Hardy catching him to prevent an escape. Grabbing the boy is reflexive at this point. It's muscle memory. He doesn't remember ever moving as quickly as he has in the last eight months, caring for this inquisitive, audacious child. Being the primary caretaker of a two year old has proven the best cardiac rehabilitation nature has to offer.

Finally, Fred adds a little extra speed to his efforts, gleefully sprinting through the crowd. Hardy trails after him, figuring if the kid has this much energy to burn it might be worth it to let him roam for a minute. Something to their right catches Fred's attention and he runs straight into the back of a woman's legs. The woman turns around and Hardy stops where he is, instantly recognizing the red hair and pale skin. Beth Latimer, with a baby strapped to her chest in some kind of elaborate yellow contraption, leans over to check on whatever has just rammed her. "Whoa, sweetheart, you okay there?" she says.

Fred, ever resilient, stands himself back up. He blinks at her. Beth scans the room, nervously searching for this child's parents. As Hardy fills in the extra few spaces, Fred runs back to meet him, hovering around him.

"Oh, DI Hardy!" Beth says.

"Beth. Hi." He attempts a smile, but he can't quite manage it. He is not in the mood for awkward conversation.

"How are you?" she asks. She looks down at the child holding onto his trouser leg. "And who's this? Wait, is that Fred?" Fred wraps himself around Hardy's leg, hiding his face. "Look how big he's got!" Beth smiles at the boy.

Hardy looks down. The child is hanging onto him with a death grip. "He's usually not shy. Fred? Can you say hello?"

After a pause, Fred looks up. He smiles at Beth and waves.

"Hi Sweetheart, you probably don't remember me."

He steps out from behind Hardy's leg and stares at her. "Is that a baby?" he asks after a moment.

"Oh, yeah, he is. This is Henry." She glances at Hardy.

Fred looks up at him and raises his arms. Hardy complies to the familiar command, lifting the boy. Fred leans out toward Beth so he can get a better look at the sleeping infant. Hardy moves him closer. "Hi Baby!" he says.

He coos at Henry for a minute, reaching a hand out to run his little fingers over the baby's downy head for a moment, before tiring of the new experience and settling back against Hardy, wrapping his pudgy arms around his neck. Beth watches the entire exchange with an amused look on her face.

"So the rumors are true then," she says.

"What rumors?" he asks, though he knows full well what she means.

"Oh, there's been loads of them. Some are quite scandalous. You and Ellie started a relationship and ran off together. Some people said you had actually been having a torrid affair from the start, all through the investigation. Now you live together, somewhere, either another part of Dorset, or Somerset or Scotland, depending on who's talking. Another one is that you had some near death experience—when you had the heart attack at the Trader's I guess—anyway she nursed you back to health and you fell madly in love with her. I think I'm forgetting a couple but you get the gist."

He tries to keep his face neutral. "Oh, those rumors. Um. Yeah. Some of it's true. Though, not the part about the investigation." He gives her a pointed look and she nods. He softens, "And I was probably already in love before the nursing to health bit."

A sentimental look comes over her face. She opens her mouth to speak when they are interrupted. "Alec?" Tom says behind him, "Can I have more...oh, um, hi Beth."

"Oh my god, Tom! Hi, Sweetheart. Wow, you're huge. You're bigger than me almost! How're you doing?"

Tom comes up close, awkwardly shifts his weight as he answers her. "I'm okay," he says. He shifts again. "How are you doing?"

They stare at each other with matching looks: fondly, tinged of sadness. There is a powerful bond between them, Hardy realizes. They were victims together.

Beth takes a shallow breath and puts an arm around Tom's shoulders, hugging him from the side. "I'm good," she says. "It's good to see you."

After a moment, she looks around. "Is Ellie here?" she asks. She seems nervous.

"She's outside," Hardy says.

Beth looks in the direction of the beach. "Do you think she would mind if I said hello?"

"Why would she mind?" Tom asks.

A flicker of guilt runs over the woman's face. Her eyes are glassy and she ducks her head. It's the confirmation Hardy needs. "Not at all," he says. She takes a deep breath, runs a hand over her baby's head.

Outside, he spots them immediately, on the wall lining the beach, just a few feet away. They are sitting close, cross-legged and facing each other, leaning in, laughing, two friends conspiring. Ellie's hair, grown out to her shoulders over the last year, looks wild against the sea breeze, falling in her face. She runs a hand through it, pushing it away, and as she does she sees them. She stares at Beth, and next to him, Beth has stopped moving. Charlotte says something and Ellie glances at her, giving a response. Whatever Charlotte says then makes Ellie smile softly, and she puts her hand up to the girl's cheek affectionately for a moment, before hopping off the wall. Hardy puts a hand on Beth's elbow to remind her to keep moving. As they approach, Ellie straightens her shoulders and sets her jaw.

"Hiya, Ell," The words come out in a rush.

"Beth, hi," Ellie says, slower, more reserved.

Beth's eyes are shining. "How've you been? You look...god, you look great." A hint of a smile catches her lip.

Surprised relief floods Ellie's face. Hardy puts a supportive arm around her waist. "Thanks, I've been...all right," she glances at him, making sure he knows she's been far better than all right. The reminder is not necessary. "What about you? Who's this then?" She smiles and leans into Beth to look at the baby.

"This is Henry."

Ellie beams at the child. "Oh Beth, he's beautiful!" The women smile at each other then, finally.

Charlotte walks up to join them, standing awkwardly between Hardy and Tom. Beth looks at her.

Hardy clears his throat. "Right, sorry. Beth, this is my daughter, Charlotte."

"Hi," Beth says.

Charlotte smiles and gives a little wave. "Nice to meet you," she says.

"You too." Beth smiles nervously. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Oh, same as Chloe. My daughter."

"Cool," Charlotte says. She smiles again.

Meanwhile Fred, who is still settled on Hardy's hip, begins putting forth his best efforts to break free. "Eh, Char, would you mind...?" He sets the boy down.

"Nope, c'mere buddy," she says, and takes Fred's hand. All three adults watch as she and Fred head for the wall and Tom follows them. Tom and Charlotte smile at each other and then Tom takes Fred's free hand, and the two begin to swing the youngest between them. It's Fred's favorite game and he immediately starts giggling.

Hardy's attention breaks when he hears Beth take in a sharp breath. She wraps her arms around baby Henry, rests her cheek against his head. Beside him, Ellie's lips are pursed and her eyes are wet. They've all had the same thought at the same time, it seems. Hardy and Ellie have gathered together the family that Beth was supposed have: two older kids and a baby, a girl and two boys. He steps a few inches closer to Ellie and puts an arm around her again, trying to think of something appropriate to say.

Luckily, they are all distracted by a man's voice calling Beth from a few yards away. They all turn together. "Hey, Beth! There you are, been lookin' all over for ya—" Mark says, but stops short as when he notices his wife's companions.

"Yeah, sorry, we're out here. Look who I found," Beth says.

Mark takes a step closer, stares, takes another step. "Hey, Ell," he says. He gives her a small smile.

"All right, Mark," Ellie says, her voice quiet.

He closes the distance and wraps her in a hug. "Good to see you," he says, his voice breathy. "How've you been, eh?"

From this angle Hardy can see Ellie's face, looking at him with wide, confused eyes. Finally, Mark pulls back. "Um. Good to see you, too, Mark. I'm fine, thanks."

Hardy sticks his hand out. "Mark."

"All right, DI Hardy," Mark takes the hand offered, and shakes his head, coming out of a daze. He has that overly friendly, neighborly look on his face that a year ago Hardy was sure was pure deception.

"Not DI Hardy, just Alec now," he says.

"Oh, is that right? So what're you doing now then, eh?"

"Teaching a couple classes. Police consulting occasionally."

"Probably more often than necessary," Ellie chimes in, her eyes sparkling as she looks at him.

He smirks back at her. "Aye, the newly appointed DI seems to really like my company." They hold eye contact for a beat too long.

"I see," says Mark, chuckling. "DI, then eh, Ell?"

She shrugs, smiling. "Apparently."

"Good for you," he says.

Beside them, Beth is still watching the kids. Mark follows her line of sight and for a second his face falls, but he blinks hard and is suddenly smiling again. "But, you're not around here, though, are ya? I think Olly told me where you ran off to, but I've forgotten."

"We're not far. Over in Poole."

"Still in Dorset then," Beth says.

"Yeah. Only the area's so much bigger, which is nice...makes it easier to...stay anonymous," Ellie says, looking a bit sheepish.

The Latimers both nod. They understand the appeal.

Beth gazes at the kids again, and Marks watches her. He clears his throat. "Well, we better be goin'. Chloe'll be waiting."

Beth looks at Ellie. "Listen, next time you're in town, give us a ring, will you? We'll have you round for dinner or something," she says. Her smile isn't quite there, but her eyes are kind.

Ellie nods, like she is taking a solemn vow. "We will."

Beth puts her hand on Ellie's elbow for a second before Mark slings an arm around her shoulders and guides her off. "Good to see you both. Take care of yourselves," he says.

"You too," Hardy says.

They walk away as Ellie watches, her eyes full of all kinds of emotions. "You all right?" he asks beside her.

She rests her head on his shoulder. After a pause she says, "Yeah, think so. It's just…hard."

Looking at the landscape around him, he knows what she needs, even if she doesn't. "Hey kids?" he calls. They all look at him, waiting for instruction. "The adults are going for a walk. Charlotte, you're in charge." Motioning them over, he hands Charlotte some cash, gives Tom the rest of his game tokens, and lets them know they are not to leave the vicinity of the arcade for any reason, short of escaping a natural disaster.

He turns back to Ellie. "Ready?" She's looking at him like he has lost his mind. "Well, come on!" 

With an acquiescent shrug she takes the hand he offers. He links his fingers with hers and keeps a tight grip, grounding her. After a glance back at the kids, she lets him lead her in the direction of the high street.

Her eyes go wide with wonder as they walk. She clutches his fingers with one hand and his forearm with the other, walking so close she bumps his hip as she moves. He can't take his eyes off of her. She looks nostalgic one minute, curious the next. Every once in a while she points out a place of interest, as if he hasn't been here before. When they get to the center of town, people start to notice them. Some nod or give them an "all right." One woman, someone vaguely familiar looking named Nikki, exclaims "Ellie!" and gives her a hug. They smile kindly at each other.

As they walk, and the friendly atmosphere soothes her, her grip on his knuckles softens. He feels her entire body begin to relax. After a while she is the one smiling first at people she recognizes on the street. They make a full lap through town, passing the Echo and the Trader's, the police station, and the Newsagents, which has recently reopened. When they're on the final stretch, she lets go of him and turns around, taking a long look at the town she's always known. She lets out a slow exhale. Her eyes are filled, but not with sadness, exactly. 

"It really is a lovely town," she says.

He steps up beside her. "It is."

She turns to him and puts her arms around his neck, stepping up flush against him.

He rubs his hands along her hips and looks her in the eye. "Do you miss it?" he asks.

She shrugs, and turns her head to take another long look at the familiar surroundings. "In a way, sort of. I'm glad we did this."

He nods. "Good."

"But it'll be nice to get back home, too."

Every now and then when he really looks at her, finding nothing but truth in those eyes of hers, his chest tightens. His pacemaker can't support his whole heart when emotions this strong are flooding through it. Whenever that happens, he draws in a deep breath and kisses her. She has enough life force to hold up the both of them. Her lips against his rebuild him.

He kisses her now, soft but sure. They hold each other close, arms hugging tight in a lingering embrace. He feels her lips curl into a smile against his mouth. He smiles back at her.

Out on the horizon, they see the first glimmer of sunset. She takes his hand again, and they walk together, moving forward, toward the beach, the kids, and everything waiting ahead. Lit up by the golden light, Broadchurch carries on behind them.

 

-End.


End file.
